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THE  REAL  AUSTRALIA 


THE 
REAL  AUSTRALIA 


BY 

ALFRED   BUCHANAN 

AUTHOR   OF 

"BUBBLE  REPUTATION" 


Where  the  water-blossoms  glister, 

And  by  gleaming  vale  and  vista, 

Sits  the  English  April's  sister 

Soft  and  sweet  and  wonderful. — Kendall. 


PHILADELPHIA 

GEORGE    W.    JACOBS   &   CO. 

PUBLISHERS 
1907 


[A/i  rights  reserved.'] 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 

The  object  of  a  novel  is,  as  a  general 
rule,  to  reflect  life  and  temperament  in  a 
selected  environment.  For  various  reasons  it 
has  become  the  fashion  to  achieve  this  end 
by  indirect  means.  An  author  goes  to  Italy, 
and  writes  a  book  about  Italy.  He  tells  us 
the  things  about  Italy,  and  the  people  of  Italy, 
that  we  want  to  know  ;  but  in  order  to  dis- 
cover these  things  we  have  to  read  many 
pages  dealing  with  imaginary  persons,  for 
whose  adventures  we  may  or  may  not  care, 
and  in  whose  personality  we  may  or  may  not 
believe. 

The  present  work  is  merely  an  attempt, 
and  an  obviously  imperfect  one,  to  do  directly 
what  the  travelled  and  cosmopolitan  novelist 
does  in  an  indirect  way.  That  is  to  say,  it  is 
an  attempt  to  mirror  in  some  fashion  the 
social  life,  the  literary  life,  the  individual  life, 


222?0S9 


vi  PREFACE 

the  present-day  life,  of  a  developing  continent 
and  four  millions  of  people. 

The  author  is  aware  that  books  of  this  kind 
are  usually  written  by  travellers  of  more  or 
less  distinction.  He  knows  that  it  is  the 
easiest  thing  possible  for  your  up-to-date 
journalist  to  rush  across  to  Japan  or  Siberia 
and  to  be  back  in  six  months  with  the  MSS. 
of  a  book  that  will  exhaust  the  subject.  He 
knows  this  ;  and  he  is  bound  to  admit  that  he 
may  be  lacking  in  that  breezy  and  picturesque 
point  of  view  which  follows  naturally  on  an 
acquaintance  of  ten  weeks,  but  is  liable  to 
vanish  with  a  knowledge  of  ten  years. 

Yet  he  does  not  apologise ;  certainly  not 
for  the  subject  matter,  nor  yet  for  the  fact 
that  he  writes  about  Australia  as  a  resident 
Australian.  The  living  world  should  be  at 
least  as  worthy  of  interpretation  as  the  dead 
world,  or  the  world  that  existed  only  in  some 
writer's  brain.  What  he  does  apologise  for 
is  the  treatment,  should  that  prove  altogether 
inadequate  to  the  theme. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I. 

VIRTUES  AND  VICES  .... 

I 

11. 

SOCIETY 

23 

III. 

JOURNALISM 

•      45 

IV. 

THE  GAME  OF  POLITICS      . 

68 

V. 

PSEUDO-LITERARY       .... 

91 

VI. 

ADAM   LINDSAY  GORDON     . 

"3 

VII. 

THEATRES  AND   AMUSEMENTS    . 

137 

VIII. 

THE  ETERNAL   FEMININE  . 

160 

IX. 

TWO  CITIES 

181 

X. 

THE  NOVELIST  AND   HIS  SELECTION 

204 

XI. 

THREE  WRITERS  OF  VERSE 

225 

XII. 

FOUR   PRIME   MINISTERS     . 

252 

XIII. 

THE   IMPERIALIST        .... 

277 

XIV. 

THE  LITTLE  AUSTRALIAN  . 

INDEX           

296 
313 

vu 


THE  REAL  AUSTRALIA 


I 

VIRTUES    AND   VICES 

Over  the  ball  of  it, 
Peering  and  prying, 
How  I  see  all  of  it, 
Life  there  outlying  ! 

Strictly  speaking,  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
national  character.  That  is  to  say,  there  is  no 
set  of  quaHties  peculiar  to  any  one  nation.  In 
every  known  country  extremes  meet.  They 
meet  now,  as  they  met  in  the  days  when  history 
began.  Greece  has  had  its  Zeno  and  its 
Epicurus,  Rome  its  Octavian  and  its  Vitellius, 
France  its  Barrere  and  its  Chateaubriand, 
Germany  its  Heine  and  its  Bismarck,  England 
its  Cromwell  and  its  John  Wilkes.  Why 
multiply  the  list?  Why  assert  of  the  con- 
trasted characters  that  exist  always  side  by 
side  that  one  is  typical  of  the  people  as  a  whole, 
and  the  other  is  not?  Why  imply  that  one 
class  of  individual  ceases  to  exist  at  a  particular 

I  A 


2  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

parallel  of  latitude,  and  another  begins  there 
and  then  to  take  its  rise  ? 

But  while  there  is  no  such  thing  as  national 
character — except  in  the  sense  that  historians 
find  it  convenient  to  use — it  is  yet  a  fact  that 
certain  people  encourage  each  other  in  certain 
practices,  and  that  these  practices  come  in 
time  to  assume  the  proportions  of  public  virtues 
and  vices.  One  environment  may  permit  an 
individual  to  wear  a  species  of  garment,  or  to 
indulge  in  a  form  of  language  that  would  be 
among  other  surroundings  either  legally  for- 
bidden, or  frowned  out  of  existence.  The  un- 
written law  in  regard  to  externals  insensibly 
modifies  both  the  law  of  conduct  and  the  habit 
of  thought.  In  Australia  there  are  opposing 
tendencies  at  work.  There  is,  in  the  first 
place,  the  tendency  to  freedom  and  to  license 
which  the  remoteness  from  an  older  civilisation 
fosters.  Opposed  to  this,  and  rapidly  over- 
coming it,  is  the  tendency  of  a  country,  as  it 
develops  settled  institutions,  to  mould  itself 
on  the  ambitious  models  of  fashionable  society 
elsewhere.  As  a  third  factor,  and  an  un- 
doubtedly powerful  one,  there  is  the  influence 
of  climate.     This   is   tending  in   Australia  to 


VIRTUES   AND   VICES  3 

produce  a  different  race  of  beings,  physically 
and  morally,  from  that  in  the  Northern 
Hemisphere.  It  is  tending  to  do  so — but  up 
to  the  present  it  has  produced  a  crop  of  half 
results,  of  insufficiently  proven  theories,  and 
of  partially  established  types. 

There  are  certain  qualities— virtues,  they 
may  be  called — that  come  prominently  under 
notice  in  Australia  and  appear,  from  their 
habit  of  repeating  themselves,  to  form  some 
integral  part  of  the  life  of  the  community. 
The  foremost  of  these  good  qualities  is  that 
of  hospitality.  And  here  a  singular  anomaly 
presents  itself.  Politically  the  Australians  are 
the  most  exclusive  and  the  most  inhospitable 
race  on  earth.  Their  only  rivals  in  this 
respect  must  be  looked  for  among  the  bottled- 
up  Confucians  of  China,  or  the  mysterious 
Buddhists  of  Thibet.  The  *' white  -  ocean  " 
policy  of  the  Federal  Parliament,  no  less  than 
the  present  Immigration  Restriction  Act,  with 
its  humorous  travesty  of  an  education  test, 
is  the  most  glaring  instance  of  political  bigotry 
that  has  come  to  light  in  modern  times.  The 
whole  of  this  legislation  has  been  described  by 
an  Australian  Prime  Minister  as  a  "monstrous 


4  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

outrage "  on  every  tolerant  sentiment  and 
every  democratic  ideal.  Yet  the  law  has 
been  in  force  for  three  years  and  no  Minister 
or  Government  has  dared  to  repeal  it.  It  is 
true  that  a  certain  concession  has  been  made 
in  favour  of  the  Japanese.  But  it  is  only  a 
partial  concession.  There  the  law  stands  on 
the  statute-book ;  and  there  It  seems  likely  to 
remain  until  the  excluded  victors  of  Tsu-shima 
show  a  desire  to  argue  the  question  from  the 
vantage  ground  of  a  battle-ship.  In  the  latter 
event  anything  might  come  to  pass. 

The  anomaly  consists  in  the  fact  that  the 
Australians,  desiring  to  live  politically  like 
frogs  In  a  well,  are,  as  Individuals,  among  the 
most  open-hearted  and  hospitable  in  the  world. 
The  prevailing  temper  is  shown  in  small  things 
as  in  great.  In  England,  If  you  are  in  doubt 
as  to  your  locality,  you  feel  some  hesitation 
in  asking  a  stranger  to  put  you  on  the  right 
road.  The  hesitancy  may  do  the  Englishman 
an  injustice,  but  his  manner  explains  It.  In 
Australia  you  have  only  to  enquire  as  to  the 
whereabouts  of  a  certain  street  or  of  a 
particular  house,  to  be  accompanied  half  the 
way  there  by  a  man  who  Is  manifestly  and 


VIRTUES   AND  VICES  5 

unmlstakeably  pleased  to  be  in  a  position  to 
give  the  information.  The  same  hospitaHty 
is  shown  in  the  average  householder's  desire 
to  surround  himself  with  as  many  people  as 
possible,  to  entertain  as  many  as  possible,  and 
to  have  as  many  as  possible  sampling  his 
wines  and  his  coffee  and  his  cigars.  If  you 
are  thirsty  in  Australia — and  the  thirst  of  the 
nation  is  proverbial — it  is  usual  to  look  for 
some  one  who  will  drink  with  you.  The 
hermit  temper  is  not  common,  nor  is  the  pre- 
vailing type  that  of  the  individual  who  wishes 
to  be  let  alone,  and  to  enjoy  things  alone. 
If  there  is  a  new  lawn,  or  a  new  piano,  or  a 
new  motor-car,  the  owner  has  a  real  anxiety 
that  its  merits  should  be  tested,  and  its  benefits 
shared  by  as  large  a  circle  as  practicable. 
Vanity  may  have  something  to  do  with  this 
desire,  but  however  accounted  for,  it  exists. 
The  inconsistency  between  the  temper  of  the 
unit  and  the  policy  of  the  Government — of  each 
successive  Government — runs  from  A  to  Z. 
The  elector  who  will  vote  to  have  black  men 
deprived  of  the  means  of  earning  a  living, 
brown  men  deported,  and  blind  or  sick  men 
refused  the  right  to  set  foot  on  land,  will,  if 


6  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

he  meets  the  alleged  undesirable  immigrant 
In  the  ordinary  paths  of  life,  come  to  his 
assistance  with  an  alacrity  that  the  good 
Samaritan  of  sacred  history  might  equal,  but 
could  not  surpass. 

There  are  other  qualities  that  must  compel 
admiration.  The  Australians  are  receptive- 
minded,  tolerant — except  in  the  political  sense 
just  mentioned — and  ready  to  learn.  The 
Intense  conservatism  of  older  countries  Is  not 
theirs.  Standards  are  not  arbitrarily  fixed  as 
they  are  In  Britain.  The  social  groove  is  not 
artificially  restricted.  It  is  narrowing,  but  it 
is  still  fairly  broad.  The  slavish  adherence  to 
a  certain  set  of  rules,  designated  collectively 
as  "  good  form,"  Is  not  a  characteristic  of  the 
people.  In  the  unwritten  code  that  finds  most 
favour  there  is  the  principle  that  a  person  may 
be  worth  cultivating  even  though  he  does  not 
pronounce  his  "«'s"  as  if  they  were  "ats,"  and 
even  though  certain  monosyllables,  by  the  aid 
of  which  the  smart  set  avoids  the  trouble  of 
conversation,  form  no  part  of  his  vocabulary. 
The  Australian  holds — in  theory,  at  any  rate — 
the  revolutionary  doctrine  that  every  one 
should   be   given   a  chance.     Now  and  again 


VIRTUES   AND  VICES  7 

an   individual   is   found  who    acts  up  to   this 
unfashionable  and  somewhat  crude  precept. 

There  is  something  elastic  in  the  people's 
attitude  to  life.  They  have  not  become 
socially  or  mentally  atrophied  by  centuries  of 
convention,  by  centuries  of  custom,  by  centuries 
of  meaningless  and  idiotic  routine.  The 
atrocious  crime  of  being  a  young  nation,  with 
much  of  what  the  word  youth  implies,  is  still 
to  be  laid  at  their  door. 

A  certain  warmth,  a  certain  generous  instinct, 
a  certain  spontaneity  of  thought  and  action,  a 
certain  buoyancy  of  temper,  must  be  placed 
to  the  credit  side  of  the  ledger.  A  certain 
fairness  to  opponents  must  also  be  conceded, 
despite  the  remarks  of  a  noted  English 
cricketer  to  the  contrary.  This  fairness 
becomes  all  the  more  praiseworthy  when  it  is 
remembered  that  the  only  topic  on  which  the 
Australians,  as  a  people,  hold  any  definite 
opinions  is  that  of  sport.  Such  being  the  case, 
it  is  inevitable  that  some  feeling  should  be 
shown  when  matters  of  sport — that  is  to  say, 
matters  of  far  more  general  interest  than  the 
fate  of  Governments  or  the  choosing  of 
Parliaments — are    being    decided.       Invidious 


8  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

comparisons  are  sometimes  drawn  between 
the  behaviour  of  crowds  in  Sydney  or 
Melbourne,  and  the  behaviour  of  crowds  at 
Lords'  or  at  the  Oval.  The  fact  is  usually 
overlooked  that  the  London  rough,  who  is  the 
counterpart  of  the  Australian  larrikin,  is  not  to 
be  met  with  in  any  numbers  at  an  athletic 
contest.  For  one  thing  he  has  not  the  money  to 
go  there,  and  for  another  thing  he  has  not  the 
desire.  But  the  more  boisterous  and  more 
objectionable  type  of  Australian  has  a  habit 
of  finding  his  w^ay  to  cricket  matches  in 
Sydney  or  in  Melbourne.  Broadly  speaking, 
it  is  a  select  crowd  that  watches  the  game  in 
England — a  crowd  made  select  by  the  price  of 
admission.  It  is  a  crowd  less  select  in 
Australia,  for  the  reason  that  the  price  of 
admission  is  more  easily  obtainable.  Allowing 
for  all  the  circumstances,  and  measuring  unit 
for  unit,  it  is  a  fact  that  the  virtue  of  fairness 
to  opponents  is  one  that  the  new  nation  can 
confidently  claim. 

Much  might  be  said — in  fact  much  has 
already  been  said,  and  much  more  will  be 
said — of  the  vices  of  the  people.  This  is  a 
topic  on  which  it  would  be  foolish  to  dogmatise, 


VIRTUES   AND  VICES  9 

seeing  that  so  much  depends  on  the  individual 
point  of  view.  Vice  itself  has  become  a  term 
of  obscure  meaning.  What  with  our  logicians 
and  metaphysicians,  our  up-to-date  moralists, 
and  our  new  hedonists  —  what  with  our 
emancipated  lady  novelists,  our  reforming 
social  philosophers,  and  our  revolting  sisters 
and  brethren — what  with  all  these,  we  have 
no  arbitrary  rules  of  conduct,  and  no  definitions 
that  can  for  a  moment  be  relied  upon.  Even 
so  correct  and  comparatively  orthodox  a 
writer  as  Edmund  Burke  has  made  a  statement 
implying  that  vice  practically  ceases  to  exist 
when  it  is  sufficiently  embroidered  and  set 
among  sufficiently  magnificent  surroundings. 
To  be  vicious  to  the  accompaniment  of  fine 
phrases  and  minuet-like  movements — to  be 
vicious  while  the  rich  embroideries  are 
sweeping  the  floor,  and  the  lights  are  falling 
on  velvet  curtains,  and  "  the  stately  silver 
shoulder  stoops "  —  that  is  not  really  to  be 
vicious  at  all.  Such  at  least  would  appear  to 
be  the  general  opinion.  And  if  the  general 
opinion  is  not  to  be  taken  as  a  guide  in  these 
matters  it  is  difficult  to  say  what  is. 

So   far   as   national   vices   come   under   the 


lo  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

heading  of  national  crimes — and  the  terms  are 
more  or  less  related,  though  they  are  not 
identical — it  can  be  easily  shown  that  Australia 
is  neither  very  much  better  nor  very  much 
worse  than  other  countries.  The  number  of 
people  who  are  punished  each  year  for  crimes 
of  various  kinds  is,  relative  to  population,  much 
the  same  as  the  number  similarly  punished  in 
the  United  Kingdom.  Statistics  of  drunken- 
ness are  incomplete  and  unreliable,  but  there 
is  the  authority  of  Mulhall  for  the  statement 
that  while  the  United  Kingdom  consumes 
3.57  proof  gallons  of  intoxicants  per  inhabi- 
tant, Australasia  consumes  no  more  than 
2.50  gallons.  Illegitimacy  is  somewhat  more 
prevalent  in  the  Southern  Hemisphere  than 
in  Great  Britain,  but  the  difference  is  not 
considerable.  The  proportion  of  illegitimate 
births  is  6  per  cent,  in  Australasia  and  only 
4.15  per  cent,  in  England  and  Wales,  but  in 
Scotland,  where  morals  are  understood  to  be 
rather  austere,  the  proportion  of  illegitimate 
births  is  7  per  cent.  And  so  it  is  in  regard  to 
most  other  offences — in  regard  to  burglaries, 
assaults,  thefts,  murders  and  the  rest.  The  lot 
of  the  average  policeman  is  neither  more  nor 


VIRTUES   AND  VICES  n 

less  unhappy,  neither  more  nor  less  strenuous, 
in  Australia  than  in  England.  The  chances 
of  being  murdered  in  one's  sleep  —  though 
the  middle-class  English  household  may  dis- 
believe the  statement  —  are  not  appreciably 
greater  in  Australia  than  they  are  in  Great 
Britain. 

Yet  a  nation  that  is  outwardly  law-abiding 
may  be  inherently  vicious.  The  habit  that 
saps  vitality  may  not  be  the  habit  that 
advertises  itself  in  the  police-court.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  a  heavy  crop  of  burglaries,  and 
assaults  with  violence,  may  be  quite  a  healthy 
sign,  tending  to  show  that  national  vigour  is 
unimpaired.  Every  philosopher  knows  that 
the  abounding  energy  which,  in  the  one  case, 
drives  the  possessor  to  break  open  doors  and 
to  hit  other  people  on  the  head  will,  in  ninety- 
nine  other  cases,  impel  him  to  daring  feats  in 
exploration,  or  in  athletics,  or  in  war.  It  is  the 
drug-taking  habit,  the  cigarette-smoking  habit, 
the  card-playing  habit,  the  gambling  habit,  the 
loafing,  swearing,  work  -  shirking  habit  that 
produces  the  most  insidious  results,  and  tells 
the  most  disastrous  tale.  None  of  these 
practices  are  liable,  in  the  ordinary  course,  to 


12  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

land  the  perpetrator  in  a  Court  of  Law. 
There  Is  no  statistician  who  can  say  any- 
thing definite  about  them.  But  that  they 
are  all  unduly  and  dangerously  prevalent  in 
Australia  is  a  fact  admitting  of  no  reasonable 
doubt. 

The  most  pervading  phase  of  Australian 
character  is  its  irresponsibility.  If  this  is 
not  a  vice  in  itself,  it  is  the  parent  of  a 
great  many  vices.  The  term  by  which  it  is 
usually  designated  is  lack  of  principle,  or  of 
moral  sense.  The  average  Englishman  may 
be  innocent  of  much  outward  profession  of 
virtue,  or,  for  that  matter,  of  any  definite, 
cut-and-dried  standard  of  beliefs.  He  may 
be  a  very  long  way  from  the  ideal  of  the 
just  man  made  perfect.  But  very  often  he 
is  discovered  to  possess  something  that  may 
be  neither  creed  nor  conscience,  but  that  is 
more  potent  than  either.  It  is  more  than  a 
fear  of  the  law.  It  is  more  than  regard  for 
the  opinion  of  others.  It  is  more,  even,  than 
sense  of  shame.  It  is  the  inner  somethinof 
—  accumulated  instinct,  if  you  will  —  that 
makes  a  man  prefer,  when  the  pinch  comes, 
to   do   the    honourable   thing.      At   the   very 


VIRTUES   AND   VICES  13 

least,  and  at  the  very  worst,  it  makes  him 
silent  as  to  his  vices,  and  conscious  of  the 
fact  that  they  are  not  virtues.  But  the 
Australian  is  beginning  to  run  into  a  different 
mould.  It  is  the  commonest  occurrence  in 
the  world  to  find  him  talking  and  boasting, 
jesting  and  laughing,  over  that  about  which 
he  should  be  most  inexorably  dumb.  Of  his 
successes  with  women,  of  his  breakages  of 
the  seventh  commandment,  of  his  nights  at 
bridge  or  in  a  public-house,  of  his  supposed 
power  of  cajoling  man,  woman,  or  child — and 
more  especially  woman — he  will  talk  as  long 
and  as  often  as  he  can  get  an  audience  to 
listen  to  him.  The  larger  the  audience  the 
better  he  is  pleased.  It  is  an  unfortunate 
tendency  of  the  people,  and  the  fact  that  there 
are  conspicuous  exceptions  to  the  rule  just 
laid  down  does  not  make  the  tendency  any 
less  noticeable  or  less  unfortunate. 

When  this  irresponsibility  reaches  its  zenith, 
its  nadir,  its  crown  and  summit  of  perfection 
or  imperfection,  it  produces  the  Australian 
larrikin.  Every  one  knows  this  product  of  the 
hour.  His  fame  has  spread  from  hemisphere 
to   hemisphere,    and   from   pole   to   pole.     All 


14  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

the  hooligans  of  London,  all  the  gamins  of 
Paris,  all  the  lazzaroni  of  Naples,  all  the 
miscellaneous  ruffians  of  Cairo  and  Port  Said, 
have  not  eclipsed,  or  even  approached,  the 
reputation  acquired  in  the  space  of  a  very 
few  decades  by  this  child  of  beneficent 
skies  and  benign,  smiling  weather.  It  is 
impossible  to  say  anything  new  about  the 
Australian  larrikin,  just  as  it  is  impossible  to 
exaggerate  the  heights  of  his  lawlessness,  or 
to  plumb  the  depths  of  his  depravity.  But 
from  the  scientific  and  psychological  points 
of  view  he  is  both  interesting  and  valuable. 
There  are  a  number  of  well  -  informed  and 
earnest  people  who  are  distressed  and  dis- 
gusted by  the  all-pervading  hypocrisy  of  our 
social  laws  and  conventions.  Mirabeau,  who 
was  exceedingly  well  informed,  and  very 
much  in  earnest,  made  it  a  boast  that  he  had 
mastered  all  formulas.  He  had  in  fact  reached 
the  summit  of  irresponsibility.  The  Australian 
larrikin  is  in  precisely  the  same  position.  But 
when  you  take  weight  off  one  man  you  enable 
him  to  redeem  a  nation  ;  when  you  take  weight 
off  another  you  make  him  what  he  is — a  living 
monument   of   hopeless    vulgarity    and    inex- 


VIRTUES   AND  VICES  15 

pressible  vice.  In  view  of  the  fact  that  the 
temper  of  the  average  man  is  more  disposed 
to  make  of  him  a  larrikin  than  a  Mirabeau,  it 
becomes  evident  that  artificial  restraints  are, 
in  the  aggregate,  the  salvation  of  the  race. 
From  the  member  of  the  "Rock's  Push" 
and  of  the  "  Flying  Angels"  we  learn  valuable 
lessons  —  lessons  which  such  enthusiasts  as 
Godwin  and  Condorcet  would  have  us  ignore. 
V^e  learn  that  conventional  laws  are  necessary, 
that  artificial  restraint  is  admirable,  that  people 
must  be  prevented  by  force  from  being  what 
most  of  them  left  to  themselves  would  become. 
Of  a  somewhat  similar  type  to  the  larrikin, 
though  not  occupying  such  a  dizzy  pre-eminence, 
is  the  cad  of  common  or  everyday  life.  This 
individual  is  not  quite  hopeless.  If  he  were 
taken  in  hand  and  disciplined,  drilled,  and 
tutored,  made  to  shoulder  a  rifle  and  practise 
a  compulsory  goose-step,  fined  every  day  for 
using  bad  language,  forbidden  to  stand  at 
street  corners,  imprisoned  for  the  habit  of 
expectoration,  and  under  no  circumstances 
allowed  the  use  of  a  bicycle,  he  might  come 
in  time  to  be  a  valuable  citizen.  At  present 
he  is  left  too  much  to  his  own  devices.     Lord 


i6  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

Roberts  had  his  English  counterpart  in  view 
when  he  announced  that  the  future  of  the 
Empire  depended  on  the  adoption  of  a  scheme 
of  conscription.  A  warlike  race  is  not  to  be 
discovered  at  street  corners.  It  does  not 
grow  there.  Neither  is  it  over-much  given 
to  frequenting  unregistered  race  meetings, 
and  '*two-up"  schools.  It  swears  occasionally, 
but  only  when  circumstances  appear  to  call 
for  emphasis.  Something  will  require  to  be 
done  with  the  youth  who  perambulates  its 
main  streets  before  Australia  will  be  able  to 
supply  the  world  with  a  new  Thermopylae,  or 
even  another  Yalu. 

The  form  of  vice  that  is  more  or  less 
prevalent  in  all  countries  —  a  form  that  is 
continually  being  warned  against  by  the  social 
brigade  of  the  Salvation  Army,  and  the 
Women's  Christian  Temperance  Union,  and 
a  worthy  Colonial  Secretary,  and  some  less 
worthy  members  of  the  police  —  is  a  form 
much  in  evidence  in  Australia.  The  warfare, 
it  need  hardly  be  said,  is  scarcely  as  profitable, 
while  it  is  as  unending  as  the  warfare  of 
the  Pigmies  against  the  Cranes.  There  is 
scarcely  a  main    street   in    which,    after   dark, 


VIRTUES   AND   VICES  i? 

the  evidences  are  not  visible  of  that  which 
the  hypocrite  censures,  and  which  the  wise 
man  merely  deplores.  In  this  continent  all 
social  currents  follow  their  own  bent.  There 
is  no  attempt  to  make  people  moral  by  Act 
of  Parliament.  There  is  not  even  an  attempt 
to  save  them  by  Act  of  Parliament  from 
certain  possibilities  arising  from  their  own 
actions.  So  the  woman  goes  her  way.  Her 
unending  sacrifice — for  there  is  no  doubt  that 
it  is  a  sacrifice,  chosen  as  the  less  of  two 
sacrifices — brings  in  the  usual  rewards,  social 
outlawry,  criminal  associates,  a  fiery,  unquench- 
able thirst,  and  a  slum  in  which  to  draw  the 
curtain.  It  is  a  very  ancient  story.  In 
matters  of  this  kind  one  does  not  look  for 
novel  and  revolutionary  features.  The  life 
of  pleasure  here  is  as  pleasurable  as  it  is 
elsewhere.  As  much,  and  no  more.  The 
pleasure,  facetiously  so  called,  is  the  outcome 
of  an  industrial  system  under  which  the 
working  womanhood  of  the  country  is 
expected  to  feed  and  clothe  and  house  itself 
on  ten  shillings  a  week,  or  less.  By  the  toil 
of  feminine  hands — so  long  as  they  choose 
to    toil  —  factories    abound,    industries     keep 


i8  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

themselves  going,  manufacturers  grow  rich. 
By  the  sacrifice  of  feminine  respectability  the 
carrion  kites  of  society  are  fed.  It  is  an 
obvious  truth  that  Australia  is  always  in 
danger  of  being  injured,  politically,  by  its 
statesmen,  while  it  is  always  being  rescued, 
socially,  by  its  nymphs  of  the  street. 

There  are  certain  acts,  certain  qualities, 
which  it  is  impossible  to  forgive.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  is  a  certain  species  of  wrong- 
doing that  is  readily  pardoned.  Vice,  as 
already  pointed  out,  is  to  some  extent  a 
relative  term  ;  and  if  the  motive  is  not  petty 
or  sordid,  if  the  actor  can  rise  to  great 
occasions,  if  the  man  or  woman  is  superior 
to  the  occasional  outbreaks  of  his  or  her 
worse  nature,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  the  nation 
is  still  capable  of  great  things,  and  is  by  no 
means  inherently  bad.  The  most  noteworthy 
characteristic  of  the  Australian  is  his  mental 
attitude  to  life.  It  is  an  attitude  that  is  in 
danger  of  becoming  crudely  materialistic.  It 
is  impossible  to  build  on  this  anything  lasting. 
The  pursuit  of  pleasure  may  be  pardonable 
enough  ;  but  it  is  distinctly  disquieting,  from 
the   point   of   view   of    one    who   wishes    his 


VIRTUES   AND   VICES  ig 

country  to  be  anything  or  to  accomplish  any- 
thing, to  discover  that  the  word  pleasure  is 
being  given  only  one  meaning.  "Patient, 
deep-thinking  Germany "  was  at  one  time 
laughed  at  by  the  wits  of  Vienna  and  Paris. 
But  Germany  has  had  its  Koniggratz  and  its 
Sedan,  and  is  laughed  at  no  longer.  The 
moral  is  that  it  is  better,  in  the  national  sense, 
to  be  patient  and  deep-thinking  than  to  be 
shallow  and  pleasure  -  loving.  The  charge 
that  is  being  brought  against  the  typical 
Australian  is  that  he  is  not  self-contained 
enough,  not  deep  enough,  not  patient  enough, 
not  idealistic  enough.  The  pleasure  that  he 
understands,  that  he  works  for,  that  he  gives 
himself  over  to,  that  he  is  limited  by,  is  the 
obvious  pleasure  that  is  dependent  on  sense, 
and  the  things  of  sense ;  and  that  must 
inevitably,  sooner  or  later,  become  pallid  and 
dead.  He  seems  to  be  learning — in  very 
many  cases  he  has  already  learned — 

To  say  of  shame,  what  is  it  ? 
Of  virtue,  we  can  miss  it ; 
Of  sin,  we  can  but  kiss  it. 
And  it's  no  longer  sin. 

And  he  threatens — it  may  be  only  a  threat — 


20  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

to  flutter  down  from  the  stage  of  spasmodic 
enterprise  to  that  of  foolish  indifference,  from 
that  of  energy  to  that  of  ineptitude,  from 
that  which  commands  the  respect,  to  that 
which  invites  the  contempt  of  nations 
physically  stronger  and  more  enduring  than 
his  own, 

Australia  has  so  far  achieved  nothing  great 
from  the  national  standpoint.  It  cannot  be 
said  to  have  failed,  because  it  has  not  yet  been 
called  upon.  There  are  people  who  declare 
that  they  have  the  utmost  confidence  in  its 
future.  And  if  certain  present-day  tendencies 
could  be  overlooked,  or  if  they  could  be 
obviated,  as  they  might  be,  this  confidence 
would  be  abundantly  justified.  The  country 
has  still  indefinite  room  for  expansion.  It  is 
not  over-populated,  and  for  at  least  another 
century  is  not  likely  to  be.  The  wild-eyed 
enthusiast  who  imagines,  with  Milton,  that  he 
can  see  a  noble  and  puissant  nation  rousing 
herself  like  a  strong  man  from  sleep,  and 
shaking  her  invincible  locks,  must,  if  he 
forsake  the  role  of  prophet  for  that  of  the 
sober  speculator,  find  some  habitation  and 
dumping-ground    for   the   people    that   are    to 


VIRTUES   AND   VICES  21 

be  born  hereafter.  And  there  are  not  many- 
regions  remaining  where  new  growths  can  be 
attempted  w^ithout  decided  inconvenience  to 
the  old.  Apart  from  South  America,  Australia 
is  practically  the  only  country  offering — the 
only  country,  that  is  to  say,  where  there  are 
millions  of  acres  of  unoccupied  land,  and  a 
soil  and  climate  that  do  not  actually  forbid 
approach.  But  the  people,  if  they  are  to  do 
great  things,  if  they  are  not  to  become  a 
tributary  of  some  foreign  power,  or  an 
appendage  of  Eastern  Asia,  must  be  prepared 
sooner  or  later  to  make  a  few  changes,  and 
even  a  few  sacrifices.  They  must  be  prepared 
to  give  up  the  habit  of  looking  to  their  big 
brothers  for  ideas  on  art  and  literature,  and 
dress,  and  dining,  and  ball  -  room  dancing, 
and  methods  of  pronunciation,  and  national 
defence.  They  must  be  prepared  to  get  a 
belief  of  some  kind,  a  religion  of  some  kind. 
They  must  be  fanatical  on  some  point — 
whether  a  religious  point  or  a  point  of  national 
honour,  it  does  not  matter — or  they  will  go 
down  before  the  Oriental  fanatic  as  surely  as 
the  grass  goes  down  before   the  scythe.     No 


22  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

one    imagines    that    a    dilettante    preference 
can  stand  against  a  consuming  fire. 

Be  it  a  mad  dream  or  God's  very  breath, 
The  fact's  the  same, — belief  is  fire. 

The  Australian  must  be  prepared,  in  the 
event  of  great  emergency,  to  die  for  something 
or  for  somebody.  When  he  is  thus  prepared, 
his  virtues  and  vices  will  not  greatly  matter ; 
they  will  learn  as  a  matter  of  course  to  adjust 
themselves. 


II 

SOCIETY 

The  gods  their  faces  turn  away 
From  nations  and  their  Httle  wars  ; 
But  we  our  golden  drama  play 
Before  the  foothghts  of  the  stars. 

George  Eliot,  in  a  passage  that  has  become 
famous,  lets  it  be  understood  that  good  society 
is  a  terribly  expensive  product,  that  it  is 
accustomed  to  float  on  gossamer  wings  of 
light  irony,  and  that  in  order  to  bring  it  to 
perfection  infinite  labour  is  required  from 
common  people  who  sweat  in  factories,  and 
toil  in  coal-mines,  and  tramp  heavily  about  In 
agricultural  districts  "  when  the  rainy  days 
look  dreary."  The  novelist  was  dealing 
particularly  with  England ;  but  the  circum- 
stances which  she  had  in  mind  repeat  them- 
selves more  or  less  exactly  in  most  civilised 
countries.  Even  in  Australia,  which  has  not 
been  civilised  very  long,  men  are  sweating  in 
factories,  and  toiling  in  coal  -  mines,  and 
grubbing  industriously  on  way-back  selections 
for  the  benefit   of  other   people   who  live   in 

2^ 


24  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

large  houses  and  give  a  social  tone  to  populous 
cities.  Much  interest  attaches  to  this  thing 
called  "  good  society."  Is  it,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
floated  on  gossamer  wings  of  light  irony,  or 
on  gossamer  wings  of  any  sort?  Is  it  as 
delicate  and  ethereal  as  George  Eliot  says 
it  ought  to  be  ? 

There  are  certain  truisms  that  do  not 
require  to  be  insisted  upon.  They  are  self- 
evident.  Mr  Henry  Crosland,  who  has 
become  quite  famous  through  his  ingenious 
habit  of  turning  positives  into  negatives,  and 
negatives  into  positives,  says  that  the  moral 
tone  of  English  upper-class  circles  is  excellent, 
while  that  of  English  middle-class  circles  is 
deceitful  and  desperately  wicked.  But  the 
ordinary  man,  with  no  literary  reputation  to 
weigh  him  down,  declares  confidently  that 
the  facts  are  neither  as  George  Eliot  nor  as 
Mr  Crosland  declare  them  to  be.  The  term 
society,  as  commonly  used  and  understood, 
refers  to  the  limited  number  of  people  who 
have  come  into  possession  either  of  a  certain 
property  or  of  a  certain  name.  The  atmosphere 
of  this  circle  is  not  light  and  buoyant.  It  is 
heavy,  and  blas^,  and  tired,   and  dull.     This 


SOCIETY  25 

good  English  society  does  not  float  on  gossamer 
wings  ;  it  drags  itself  round  two  continents  with 
very  conscious  endeavour.  It  is  not  ironical ; 
to  be  that,  requires  mental  effort,  while  it  is 
easier  and  more  effective  to  be  supercilious. 
This  same  society  is  not  moral ;  the  whole 
scheme  and  purpose  of  conventional  morality 
is  narrow  and  circumscribed,  and  therefore 
unattractive  to  those  unprejudiced  people  who 
perceive  that  arbitrary  rules  of  conduct  are 
made  for  slaves.  The  set  in  question  is  in 
no  single  particular  what  its  apologists  and 
admirers  declare  it  to  be.  It  is  not  really 
exclusive ;  a  man  with  sufficient  means  can 
always  enter  it.  There  is  only  one  thing  to 
which  it  is  actively  antagonistic,  and  that  is 
ability.  It  is  not  antagonistic  to  poverty  ;  it  is 
merely  disdainful.  Its  arrogance  is  appalling. 
Its  lack  of  creative  power  is  more  appalling 
still. 

And  yet  while  the  characteristics  of  the  best 
London  society  are  of  this  nature — while  the 
whole  edifice  would  suggest  the  Jugurtha 
reflection  that  the  city  is  for  sale,  and  will 
perish  quickly  when  it  finds  a  purchaser — it 
is  undeniably  true  that  the  passion  to  enter  the 


26  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

comparatively  limited  circle  is  steadily  growing. 
The  desire  is  the  natural  result  of  that  envy 
which  the  man  or  woman  who  is  everywhere 
circumscribed  feels  for  the  individual  who  is 
in  all  things  privileged.  The  important  circum- 
stance at  present  is  that  the  London  "four 
hundred  "  were  never  more  run  after  than  they 
are  to-day.  Their  patronage  and  presence 
were  never  in  greater  demand.  We  may 
swear  that  this  smart  set  is  a  very  dull  set  ; 
we  may  vow  with  the  earnestness  of  conviction 
that  its  very  atmosphere  is  fatal  to  initiative 
and  inimical  to  brains,  and  more  destructive 
to  morals  than  to  either ;  but  there  is  not  a 
woman,  scarcely  a  man  among  us  who  does 
not  bear  witness,  in  the  way  he  dresses,  or 
dines,  or  parts  his  hair,  or  takes  the  hand  of 
a  lady  in  a  ball-room,  that  he  is  a  humble 
imitator  of  the  example  set  him  by  the  people 
who  live  in  large  houses  and  flourish  in  the 
pages  of  De  Brett.  There  is  not  a  man 
outside  this  narrow  pale,  be  he  English  or 
Australian,  who  could  walk  along  Piccadilly 
in  the  company  of  two  members  of  the 
aristocracy,  effete  though  that  aristocracy  may 
be,  without   a   sense  of  elation  bordering  on 


SOCIETY  27 

vertigo.  With  all  its  vice  and  frippery  and 
inanity  and  boredom,  the  thing  called  society 
is  an  influence,  a  power,  a  far-reaching  entity, 
a  commanding  and  controlling  force.  From  a 
distance  we  can  criticise  it  and  discover  what 
it  really  means,  what  it  actually  is.  But  at 
close  quarters  it  makes  cowards  of  us — that 
is  to  say,  of  all  who  are  not  hermits  or 
desperadoes,  of  all  who  are  not  phenomenally 
rich  or  abysmally  poor. 

Good  society,  as  already  mentioned,  is  a 
peculiarly  English  institution.  Nevertheless, 
it  has  flourishing  offshoots  in  different  parts 
of  the  world.  In  Australia,  there  is  rapidly 
growing  up  a  set  of  conventions  and  a  habit 
of  speech  founded  on  a  close  study  of  the 
older  community.  There  is  such  a  thing  as 
Australian  society.  It  exists.  It  is  ambitious. 
It  aspires  to  be  recognised.  It  wants  to  grow. 
Some  of  its  members  have  been  presented  at 
Court  and  have  brouorht  back  with  them  laro^e 
social  aspirations.  Certain  of  its  women  have 
been  taken  into  dinner  by  members  of  the 
British  peerage.  Quite  a  number  of  Australian 
tailors  have  been  in  Bond  Street  and  have 
made  observations.    A  proportion  of  Australian 


28  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

dressmakers  has  seen  something  of  Paris. 
These  dealers  in  cloth  and  millinery  have 
magnificent  ideas.  They  have  impressed 
themselves  and  their  notions  on  the  home- 
staying  community.  So  it  has  come  about 
that  dress,  wealth,  reputation,  fashion,  and 
appearance  have  done  a  great  deal  between 
them  to  create  the  nucleus  of  a  favoured 
clientele,  and  to  scatter  to  the  winds  the 
obsolete  idea  that  in  a  democracy  all  things 
are  equal,  and  all  people  are  socially  on  2.  par. 

What,  it  may  be  asked  at  the  outset,  is 
meant  by  the  term  "Australian  society"?  It 
has  been  agreed  that  something  of  the  kind 
has  been  evolved.  But  who  are  the  indi- 
viduals? Where  are  they?  How  can  they 
be  recognised  ?  For  purposes  of  rough-and- 
ready  definition,  they  may  be  classified  as 
the  people  who  are  in  the  habit  of  receiving 
invitations  to  Government  House.  It  is  the 
business  of  the  aide-de-camp  to  discover  who 
is  who  in  Australia.  The  task  is  impossible 
to  the  statistician  or  the  scientist,  but  it  seems 
in  some  mysterious  fashion  to  fit  in  with  the 
temperament  and  abilities  of  an  aide-de-camp. 
There  are  no  definite  rules  that  can  be  relied 


SOCIETY  29 

upon.  The  dividing  line  between  desirables 
and  non-desirables  is  of  the  most  shifty,  and 
uncertain,  and  elusive  character.  Yet,  when 
mistakes  are  made,  as  they  always  will  be, 
the  social  uproar  is  tremendous.  The  un- 
fortunate official  whose  business  it  is  to  request 
the  pleasure  of  So-and-so's  company  at  a  Vice- 
regal dance,  or  a  garden  party,  is  for  ever 
voyaging  upon  troubled  waters,  with  scarcely 
a  beacon  or  a  land-mark  to  guide  him.  His 
eye  may  light  upon  a  few  judges,  a  few 
prominent  politicians,  one  or  two  naval  and 
military  officers,  half  a  dozen  wealthy  land- 
owners, and  a  few  prosperous  warehousemen. 
So  far  as  they  are  concerned,  he  knows  he  is 
safe.  But  there  remain  the  grocer,  the  land- 
agent,  the  brewer,  the  confectioner,  the  lawyer, 
the  singer,  the  actor,  the  doctor,  the  grass- 
widow,  and  many  more  —  a  miscellaneous 
assortment  which  cannot  be  entirely  ignored 
or  collectively  accepted,  and  which  presents 
a  problem  baffling  in  the  last  degree. 

It  is  almost  unnecessary  to  say  that  the 
social  world  of  Australia  is  controlled  by 
women.  It  is  they  who  set  most  store  upon 
artificial    distinctions.      It    is    they   who   value 


30  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

most  the  receipt  of  a  request  to  disport  them- 
selves on  His  Excellency's  lawn,  or  in  His 
Excellency's  ball-room.  It  is  they  who  under- 
stand best  how  far  the  Vice-regal  card  of 
invitation  exalts  them  over  their  sisters  who 
have  not  come  in  for  a  like  attention.  The 
average  man,  if  left  to  his  own  devices,  would 
not  sparkle  with  animation  at  the  prospect 
of  either  a  Government  House  dance,  or 
a  Government  House  garden  party.  This 
average  man — unless  he  happens  to  be  very 
young  and  very  volatile — is  not  an  enthusiastic 
exponent  of  those  ball-room  exercises  in  which 
Ouida's  heroes  excel.  Neither  has  he  any 
delight  in  the  formality  and  stiffness,  the  silk 
hats  and  the  long  coats  inseparable  from  a 
two  hours'  promenade  on  some  distinguished 
person's  lawn.  If  it  were  a  matter  of  personal 
inclination,  he  would  confess  that  he  knew 
better  ways  of  amusing  himself.  But  the 
Australian  woman  is  socially  ambitious.  Her 
passion  for  social  festivities  is  unquenchable. 
When  the  tocsin  has  sounded  she  will  march 
with  the  procession — at  the  head  of  it,  if  she 
can.  And  the  man  of  her  circle,  whether  he 
likes  it  or  not,  must  march  with  her. 


SOCIETY  31 

All  the  mannerisms  that  do  duty  in  the 
society  of  one  hemisphere  come  in  their  turn 
to  do  duty  in  the  society  of  the  other.  The 
puppets  advance  and  retire  to  identical  sets 
of  rules.  If  the  high  handshake  is  fashionable 
in  England,  it  must  become  fashionable  in 
Australia.  If  it  is  the  custom  to  take  your 
partner's  arm  in  the  West  End  of  London, 
it  has  to  be  the  custom,  a  little  later,  in  certain 
quarters  of  Melbourne  and  Sydney.  If  it  is 
the  correct  thing  for  the  young  English 
lordling  to  talk  in  tired  monosyllables  to  the 
daughter  of  the  Marquis,  it  is  equally  the 
correct  thing  for  the  Australian  young  man 
of  means  to  look  as  bored  as  possible  when 
conversing  with  the  daughter  of  the  host. 
One  artificiality  follows  another.  The  imitative 
processes  extend  to  the  manner  of  using  a 
finger-bowl,  and  of  handling  an  eye-glass.  If 
white  waistcoats  and  gaudy  ties  are  the  rule 
among  certain  people  in  England,  they  become 
the  rule  among  certain  people  in  Australia. 
Society  in  either  country  is  raised,  fortified, 
buttressed,  and  embellished  with  shams — with 
shams  that  have  nothing  to  recommend  them 
on  the  score  of  cleverness,    or   ingenuity,   or 


32  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

outward  grace  or  hidden  meaning.  They 
represent,  simply  and  solely,  the  desire  of  a 
certain  class  to  do  certain  things  in  a  manner 
peculiar  to  itself. 

As  to  the  inner  life  of  this  fashionable 
society,  as  it  exists  in  Australia,  there  is  little 
new  to  be  said.  The  object  in  view  is  simply 
that  in  view  everywhere  else,  namely,  that 
of  obtaining  as  much  amusement  as  possible, 
and  of  being  left  to  one's  own  devices  as  little 
as  possible.  All  the  distractions  known  to 
civilised  man  are  drawn  upon  in  one  country 
as  in  another.  The  men  bet  on  racecourses, 
drink,  and  play  cards.  The  women  do  all 
three,  and  in  addition  smoke  and  talk  scandal. 
In  one  respect  Australian  society  has  an 
advantage  over  that  of  London,  or  of  Paris. 
It  has  more  physical  energy  with  which  to 
pursue  its  vices  and  its  follies  to  the  bitter 
end.  Its  opportunities  for  extravagant  display 
may  be  fewer,  but  its  zest  is  greater.  It  has 
no  series  of  inter-marriages  to  look  back  upon. 
It  has  no  titled  and  blasd  families  to  support. 
Its  fathers  or  its  grandfathers  belonged  to  the 
race  of  hardy  pioneers.  The  present  genera- 
tion  is  the  product   of  a   virile  stock.     As   a 


SOCIETY  33 

consequence  it  has  not  exhausted  Its  physical 
equipment.  There  is  a  certain  buoyancy 
about  its  mental  attitude,  a  certain  juvenility 
in  its  pursuit  of  the  bubbles  of  the  moment. 
The  nil  adrnirari  manner,  borrowed  from 
London  drawing  -  rooms,  sits  awkwardly  on 
its  shoulders.  If  it  could  only  get  away  from 
old-world  traditions,  if  it  were  willing  to  stand 
upon  its  feet,  if  it  would  leave  its  absurd 
mannerisms  to  the  people  who  first  invented 
them,  this  Australian  society,  with  all  its 
health  and  youth  and  unimpaired  vitality, 
with  all  its  magnificent  opportunities  furnished 
by  variety  of  scene  and  splendour  of  climate, 
might  set  an  example  of  living  which  other 
countries  would  have  reason  to  envy,  if  they 
had  not  the  power  to  imitate.  For  Australia, 
if  the  fact  were  only  recognised,  is  a  country 
in  which  it  is  possible  to  enjoy  oneself  finely, 
or  to  deny  oneself  greatly,  as  the  mood 
pleases,  independently  of  the  world. 

One  characteristic  of  Australian  society  is  its 
vulgarity ;  another  is  its  snobbery ;  another  is 
its  lack  of  ideals.  The  vulgarity  is  apparent 
on  the  surface.  It  is  usually  explained  on  the 
ground  of  want  of  familiarity  with  the  more 


34  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

luxurious  and  the  more  cultivated  conditions 
of  living.  To  endow  a  man  who  commenced 
life  as  a  small  shopkeeper  with  a  large  house, 
a  carriage,  some  superior  furniture,  and  still 
more  expensive  possessions  in  the  shape  of 
wife  and  daughters,  is  not  to  make  him  refined. 
The  glorified  tradesman  is  the  pivot  of  the 
social  life  of  the  continent.  The  distinction 
between  the  wholesale  and  the  retail  dealer, 
which  is  still  more  or  less  observed  in  England, 
does  not  obtain  here.  If  a  man  has  the  money 
he  is  accepted  at  his  own  valuation.  He  can 
go  anywhere.  Government  House  throws  its 
gates  open  to  him,  unless,  indeed,  it  should 
have  happened  that  certain  incidents  of  an 
unusually  lurid  character  have  reached  the 
ears  of  the  painstaking  aide-de-camp.  The 
landowner,  if  his  lands  are  extensive  enough, 
is  another  who  helps  to  set  the  standard.  He 
also  is  usually  a  novice  at  the  pursuits  and 
mannerisms  that  find  favour  with  the  more 
seasoned  upper  classes.  The  trail  of  newness, 
of  gaucherie,  of  awkward,  although  of  lavish 
ostentation,  is  over  the  whole  social  fabric. 
The  people  have  zest  and  energy.  They  dine 
well,  drink  well,  gamble  well.     But  they  have 


SOCIETY  35 

not  yet  learned  to  do  these  things  with  the 
nonchalant  air  that  comes  of  heredity  or  of 
much  experience. 

The   snobbery   of    Australian    society    is   a 
matter  equally  beyond  the  reach  of  question. 
It  is  an  elementary   principle    in   all    specula- 
tions as  to  human  conduct  that  the  man  or 
woman  who  is  intrinsically  best  worth  knowing 
is  the  one  who  asserts  himself  or  herself  least. 
The    plutocrats   of   Australia    are    continually 
and  tirelessly  asserting  themselves.     They  all 
advertise — possibly  because  of  the  survival  of 
the     shopkeeping    instinct,     which    prompted 
them  in  earlier  days  to  get  ahead  of  the  man 
next  door  by  making  a  finer  display  of  haber- 
dashery  or    of    cold    meat.     The   advertising 
habit  does  not  die  out  in  one  generation.     At 
present  it  dominates  the  social  life  of  the  com- 
munity.    This  is  the  reason  why  the  man  who 
does  not  care  to  advertise,  or  feels  he  has  no 
need  to  advertise,   prefers  to  stay  away  from 
gatherings  at  which  the  resplendent  tradesmen 
are  the  observed  of  all  observers.     There  are 
many    men    of  sensibility,    of  imagination,    of 
delicacy  of  thought  and  refinement  of  feeling, 
in  Australia.     There  are  women  equally  gifted. 


36  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

But  these  are  not  the  people  who  besiege  the 
Vice-regal  Residence  most  determinedly,  or 
appear  in  the  papers  most  often.  If  they 
have  means,  or  leisure,  or  culture — and  often 
they  have  all  three — they  look  for  congenial 
souls,  or  are  satisfied  to  remain  apart. 

The  selfishness  of  Australian  society  is  more 
or  less  implied  in  what  has  been  already  stated  ; 
but  a  special  significance  is  often  givfen  to  the 
word  in  connection  with  the  declining  birth- 
rate. The  population  of  the  continent  is  by 
no  means  stationary.  The  birth-rate  is  about 
28  per  thousand,  and  the  death-rate  scarcely 
13  per  thousand.  In  fifty  years,  even  at  the 
present  rate  of  increase,  there  will  be  8,000,000 
people  in  the  Commonwealth.  But  the 
preachers  and  politicians  are  not  satisfied. 
They  want  the  increase  to  be  still  greater, 
the  births  to  be  still  more  numerous.  They 
have  discovered  that  the  cradle  of  the  work- 
ing man — when  he  can  afford  such  an  article 
of  furniture — is  seldom  empty,  while  the  cradle 
of  the  rich  mother  has  only  an  occasional 
inmate.  The  cry  has  gone  up  that  the  women 
of  the  well-to-do  class  are  furnishing  a  bad 
precedent.     A   committee   of  nine,    appointed 


SOCIETY  37 

by  the  New  South  Wales  Government,  recently 
investigated  the  whole  question.  And  the  con- 
clusion arrived  at  is  that  Australia,  and  more 
especially  its  middle  and  upper  classes,  are 
socially  and  morally  in  a  bad  way. 

It  is  remarkable  that  so  much  unnecessary 
alarm  should  have  been  created  over  this 
subject.  To  say  that  the  diminishing  birth- 
rate is  necessarily  a  bad  sign  is  to  ignore  great 
part  of  the  teaching  of  history,  and  of  science, 
and  of  civilisation.  Birth  is  stronger  than 
death,  and  has  been  throughout  the  ages. 
It  was  so  when  the  barbarians  were  knocking 
at  the  gates  of  the  Eternal  City  ;  when  the 
tens  of  thousands  of  Attila  were  falling  before 
the  tens  of  thousands  of  Aetius  ;  when  Goth 
and  Vandal,  Frank  and  Scythian,  were  trans- 
forming Central  Europe  into  a  charnel  pit ; 
when  famine  and  pestilence  were  assisting  the 
war-god  of  the  Middle  Ages  to  keep  population 
in  check.  Yet  population  grew  then,  and  is 
growing  now.  Science,  by  checking  disease, 
and  humanitarian  sentiment,  by  preventing 
war,  are  helping  it  to  grow  still  faster.  No 
one  can  pretend  to  say  what  the  end  will 
be.      The    temper    of   Australian    society    is 


38  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

probably  no  more  unselfish  and  no  more  moral 
than  is  that  of  any  other  society  equally 
endowed  with  means  and  leisure  time.  But 
even  out  of  evil  good  may  come  ;  and  if  selfish- 
ness and  immorality  are  evils,  it  has  yet  to  be 
shown  that  a  declining  birth-rate  belongs  to 
the  same  category. 

The  tone  of  what  is  called  society  is,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  outward  expression  of  the 
country's  ideal.  Australia  badly  wants  an 
ideal.  At  present  it  has  none  worthy  of  the 
name.  It  is  not  looking  for  one  ;  at  least  there 
are  few  indications  of  a  search.  What  is 
everybody  striving  for.-*  Unto  what  altar  is 
the  mysterious  priest  of  nationhood  leading 
his  followers  ?  Of  what  nature  are  the 
offerings  ?  Who  are  the  deities  that  are  being 
invoked  ?  These  are  all  questions  that  should 
interest  the  speculative  mind.  As  to  the 
habits  and  inspirations  of  the  working  classes, 
there  is  not  much  uncertainty.  They  are 
aiming — and  it  is  an  honourable  and  straight- 
forward aim — at  improved  mental  and  material 
conditions  of  living.  But  as  the  present 
argument  deals  with  methods  of  employing 
leisure,    and   the    workers    are   understood   to 


SOCIETY  39 

have  no  leisure,  they  may  be  omitted  from  the 
general  conclusion.  The  leisured  classes,  the 
privileged  classes,  the  social  classes  have  one, 
and  only  one  objective.  Their  familiar  gods 
are  those  of  the  worshippers  in  Atalanta 
in  Calydon  —  Pan  by  day,  and  Bacchus 
by  night.  Their  mission  is  to  pass  the  time, 
to  kill  it  in  the  most  agreeable  way,  to 
accompany  its  exit  with  the  music  of  flutes,  to 
see  that  its  obsequies  are  attended  by  the  most 
lulling  effects,  the  most  soothing  harmonies, 
the  most  insidious  appeals  to  brain  and  sense 
that  money  will  allow. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  were  ideals.  The 
patriotic  ideal  was  one  of  these,  and  it  was 
decidedly  useful,  though  from  the  logical 
standpoint  rather  absurd.  The  march  of 
intelligence  teaches  that  the  willingness  to  die 
for  one's  country  is  the  survival  of  a  crude 
and  primitive  instinct ;  that  it  is  much  finer, 
as  well  as  much  safer,  to  entertain  a  cosmo- 
politan feeling  of  regard  for  the  foreigner,  and 
not  to  put  oneself  unnecessarily  in  his  way. 
Leonidas,  when  he  put  himself  in  the  way  at 
Thermopylae,  illustrated  the  earlier  man's 
fondness    for   an    ideal.      From   his    country's 


40  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

point  of  view  his  ideal  was  a  good  one,  though 
for  himself  it  had  no  concrete  value.  Another 
manifestation  that  is  occasionally  to  be  met 
with  in  Europe  and  elsewhere  is  what  might 
be  called  the  aristocratic  ideal.  This  is  an 
inheritance  from  feudal  times.  Yet  a  third 
variety  is  the  intellectual  ideal.  France  in  the 
time  of  Louis  XIV.  grew  tired  of  looking  up 
to  the  people  of  high  birth,  and  for  a  brief 
space  looked  up  to  the  people  of  high  intelli- 
gence. Every  member  of  the  best  society 
carried  his  sonnet  about  with  him  as  the 
modern  man  carries  his  walking-stick.  The 
age  of  Louis  and  of  Moliere  was  the  hey- 
day of  the  intellectual  ideal. 

In  Australia  there  is  no  real  acknowledgment 
of  any  of  these  three.  There  is  no  inducement 
to  the  average  citizen  to  be  patriotic.  The 
quality,  so  far  from  being  idealised,  is  hardly 
recognised.  Times  have  altered  since  King 
Xerxes  looked  out  over  Salamis  and  since 
Arnold  von  Winkelreid  fell  at  Sempach. 
The  people  of  the  new  continent  have  never 
been  called  upon  to  defend  themselves. 
Where  there  is  no  desire  for  fighting,  no 
military   spirit,    no    past    history,    no    present 


SOCIETY  41 

danger,  there  is  not  likely  to  be  a  patriotic 
ideal.  If  you  were  to  ask  the  average 
Australian  whether  it  was  not  his  highest 
ambition  to  die  for  his  country  he  would  take 
you  either  for  a  person  of  weak  intellect,  or 
for  an  eccentric  amateur  comedian.  Neither 
is  there  any  quality  in  the  people  that 
corresponds  to  the  ancient  practice  of  idealising 
noble  birth.  The  country  has  no  aristocracy 
of  its  own.  It  has  no  special  desire  for  one. 
Whatever  ambitions  or  aspirations  it  may 
acknowledge,  they  have  nothing  to  do  with  a 
titled  class.  Neither  is  the  typical  Australian 
given  to  worshipping  intellect  as  such.  When 
the  particular  brand  of  intellect  brought  under 
his  notice  has  been  commercially  successful, 
and  can  command  a  high  market  value,  he 
is  appreciative  and  respectful.  But  for  the 
quality  itself  he  has  no  special  regard,  and  in 
nine  cases  out  of  ten  does  not  recognise  it 
when  it  is  there. 

Without  any  such  ideals  as  connect  them- 
selves with  patriotism,  with  good  birth,  and 
with  intellect,  Australia  bestows  its  enthusi- 
astic idolatry  on  the  individual  possessed  of 
great     riches.        Patriotism,     good     conduct, 


42  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

character,  intelligence,  imagination,  fancy, 
unselfishness,  brilliancy  of  expression  —  all 
these  things  are  quite  unnecessary  in  local 
social  circles.  It  is  only  when  they  have  been 
translated  into  a  cash  value  that  they  can  be 
seriously  considered.  It  is  not  that  brains 
are  ruled  out  of  court.  They  are  always 
tolerated.  But  it  is  only  when  they  have 
allied  themselves  with  some  kind  of  com- 
mercial success  that  they  are  sought  after. 
The  ideal  before  the  community — the  ideal 
that  finds  expression  in  society,  that  shines 
through  the  restless  eyes  of  the  women,  and 
stamps  itself  on  the  dissatisfied  faces  of  the 
men — is  nothing  if  not  a  monetary  one. 
Strictly  speaking,  therefore,  it  is  not  an  ideal 
at  all.  Money  will  purchase  everything  that 
the  country  has  to  offer,  and  for  want  of 
something  else  it  does  duty  as  the  country's 
ideal. 

It  is  unfortunate  that  the  continent  should 
be  in  this  position — the  position  of  having 
nothing  but  a  large  fortune,  a  motor  car,  and 
a  quantity  of  expensive  furniture  to  aim  at. 
Henry  Lawson  and  one  or  two  other  poorly 
appreciated  writers  of  talent  have  endeavoured 


SOCIETY  43 

to  inspire  the  people  with  a  martial  sentiment, 
but  as  yet  without  success.  All  invocations 
to  the  "star  of  Australia"  have  so  far  fallen 
on  deaf  ears.  There  is  no  star  of  Australia. 
It  has  not  set,  and  it  has  never  risen.  Until 
something  unforeseen  happens  it  does  not 
seem  likely  to  rise.  How  can  it?  The  well- 
spring  from  which  patriotic  aspirations  mount 
up  has  not  yet  been  discovered.  People 
with  admirable  intentions  have  recommended 
Australia,  as  an  escape  from  mere  frivolous 
amusements,  to  cultivate  various  forms  of 
the  strenuous  life — for  example,  the  life  in 
barracks,  the  life  in  libraries,  the  life  on  the 
intellectual  mountain  top,  the  life  in  the  home. 
It  is  unquestionable  that  a  new  development 
of  some  kind  is  badly  needed.  Australia 
would  reap  a  substantial  benefit,  and  one 
reflected  throughout  all  ranks  and  conditions, 
if  in  the  near  future  it  evolved  something, 
whether  it  were  a  patriotic  ideal,  a  jingoistic 
ideal,  a  home-life  ideal,  a  moral,  intellectual, 
religious,  or  even  a  physical  ideal.  If  it  is  to 
play  a  respectable  part  in  future  questions 
of  magnitude  it  must,  at  any  rate,  develop 
some     variation     in     the     pleasure  -  seeking, 


44  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

money-making,  work-shirking  propensities  that 
represent  the  greater  part  of  its  social  life. 
Probably  the  salvation,  when  it  does  come, 
will  be  wrought  by  the  working  classes  ;  for 
though  they  have  blundered  industrially,  and 
failed  more  than  once  politically,  they  have 
the  confidence  of  numbers,  they  are  emanci- 
pated, and  they  are  quick  to  learn.  The 
ultimate  destiny  of  the  Australian  continent  is 
very  largely  in  their  hands. 


Ill 

JOURNALISM 

The  many  waves  of  thought,  the  mighty  tides, 
The  ground  swell  that  rolls  up  from  other  lands, 
From  far-off  worlds,  from  dim  eternal  shores 
Whose  echo  dashes  on  life's  wave-worn  strands. 

The  people  who  are  connected  with  journalism 
in  Australia,  as  elsewhere,  fall  naturally  into 
three  classes  —  managers,  sub  -  editors,  and 
newspaper  writers.  There  are  numerous  sub- 
divisions, but  these  are  the  three  cardinal  ones. 
The  outside  public  does  not  always  appreciate 
the  value  of  the  classification  just  given.  The 
outside  public  may,  therefore,  in  its  tolerance, 
submit  to  be  informed.  For  modern  journalism 
has  become  a  vast  and  comprehensive  and 
complex  thing.  It  touches  every  one,  interests 
every  one,  more  or  less  attracts  every  one,  more 
or  less  mystifies  every  one.  The  man  who  is 
not  an  outsider,  but  who  has  had  the  lot  to 

See  with  eye  serene 
The  very  pulse  of  the  machine — 

who  has  been  caught  up  and  whirled  round 
by  the   wheels,  so  to  speak — should  be  able 

45 


46  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

to  claim  the  privilege  of  describing  his  observa- 
tions and  his  sensations. 

The  managerial  class  is  deserving  of  much 
respect,  and  usually  gets  all  that  it  deserves. 
Its  members  are  few,  but  its  influence  is 
undoubtedly  great.  Only  a  short  account 
need  be  given  of  the  character  and  abilities 
of  the  handful  of  men  who  either  own  or 
manage  the  great  *'  dailies  "  of  Australia. 

For  them  the  anonymity  of  the  profession 
does  not  exist.  They  live  much  in  the  public 
eye.  They  collect  the  praise  ;  they  accept 
the  flattery  ;  they  grow  rich  on  the  proceeds. 
The  blame,  when  there  is  blame,  is  also  theirs. 
But  what  terrors  can  the  breath  of  outside 
criticism  have  for  men  who  sell  their  papers 
at  the  rate  of  30,000  or  40,000,  or  100,000  a 
day  ?  What  profit  is  there  in  kicking  against 
the  pricks  ?  These  men  who  control  the  city 
newspapers  form  a  separate  oligarchy,  and 
a  powerful  one.  They  are  not  troubled  with 
any  misgivings  as  to  their  own  potentialities 
in  the  cosmos.  They  have  a  practical  work- 
ing knowledge  of  the  world,  and  a  vast  con- 
fidence in  themselves.  Sometimes  they  know 
how  to  write,  sometimes  they  do  not.     In  any 


JOURNALISM  47 

case  it  does  not  matter.  Whatever  brains  they 
want  they  can  easily  purchase.  They  Hve  in 
larofe  mansions  in  the  suburbs,  arrive  at  their 
offices  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  go 
regularly  to  Government  House,  and  deal 
in  Napoleonic  fashion  with  complaints  from 
the  sub  -  editor,  with  suggestions  from  the 
commercial  world,  with  expostulations  from 
aggrieved  politicians,  and  with  applications  for 
increases  of  salary  from  unsatisfied  members 
of  the  staff.  They  have  won  their  way  to  big 
positions,  and  they  know  it.  It  is  an  excellent 
and  a  pleasant  thing  to  be  the  proprietor  or  the 
manager  of  a  large  newspaper  in  Australia. 

The  sub-editors,  again,  form  a  class  by 
themselves ;  they  resemble  the  managers  in 
that  they  are  not  really  journalists.  Possibly 
at  some  stage  of  their  individual  careers  they 
may  have  been,  but  they  are  so  no  longer. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  they  are  the  sworn  enemies 
of  journalism.  They  stand  like  the  British 
infantry  at  Waterloo — a  sort  of  cold  iron 
palisade  against  which  the  effervescence  of 
youthful  journalistic  enterprise  dashes  itself 
in  vain.  They  represent  not  so  much  the 
literary,    as    the    commercial    instinct   of  the 


48  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

paper.  They  are  the  outposts  which  a 
cautious  management  sets  to  keep  watch 
against  the  Philistines.  The  sub-editor  has 
tremendous  responsibiHty  and  very  Httle  power. 
Therein  Hes  the  tragedy  of  his  existence. 
Before  he  begins  his  long  series  of  vigils 
under  the  electric  lamp,  he  knows  that  while 
he  will  get  no  manner  of  praise  if  everything 
goes  right,  he  will  get  short  and  decisive  shrift 
if  anything  goes  wrong.  He  knows  this  very 
well ;  and  the  knowledge  makes  him  what 
he  is. 

A  strange  existence,  a  strange  personality 
is  that  of  the  sub-editor.  He  seems  to 
resemble  the  patient,  sleepless  Eremite  of 
Keats's  last  sonnet ;  he  is  always  there,  and 
he  is  always  "watching  with  eternal  lids 
apart."  It  is  impossible  not  to  admire  him. 
He  must,  to  be  in  any  sense  worthy  of  his 
post,  possess  great  abilities.  The  machine 
that  he  controls  is  vast,  unwieldy,  and  yet 
sensationally  rapid  in  its  flight.  The  Rio 
Grande  of  Paterson's  Steeplechase  did  not 
require  a  touch  half  so  firm  or  half  so  fine  to 
keep  him  in  his  course.  Of  the  thousand 
objectionable,    offensive,    libellous,    dangerous. 


JOURNALISM  49 

unnecessary  or  unwise  things  that  come  under 
the  sub-editor's  notice  every  week,  how  many 
get  past  him?  How  many  does  he  suffer  to 
see  the  light  of  day?  It  is  impossible  not  to 
admire  the  sub-editor,  but  it  is  difficult  to  like 
him.  He  must  be  a  man  without  pity  and 
without  remorse.  If  he  made  allowance  for 
good  intentions,  if  he  judged  otherwise  than 
by  results,  he  would  ruin  his  paper  in  a  month. 
If  he  did  not  effectively  discourage  the  swarm 
of  budding  writers  who  attempt  to  rush  him, 
he  would  speedily  have  to  cease  publication. 
If  he  were  not  constantly  saying  unpleasant 
things,  he  would  inaugurate  a  reign  of  chaos. 
And  yet  there  are  one  or  two  first-class  sub- 
editors in  Australia  who  are  well  liked,  and 
by  none  better  than  by  their  victims.  It  is  a 
strange  anomaly,  but  there  it  is.  In  any  case 
it  is  a  great  tribute  to  the  personality  of  the 
man. 

Of  the  third  class,  the  order  of  journalists 
proper,  a  great  deal  might  be  said.  This 
class  includes  all  those  who  get  their  living 
by  furnishing  copy  to  the  newspapers  of  the 
country.  They  are  a  motley  crowd ;  they 
number  in    their  ranks   representatives   of  all 

D 


50  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

the  professions,  and  of  no  profession  at  all. 
They  embrace  men  and  women  of  good  social 
position,  and  men  and  women  who  are 
distinctly  outside  the  pale.  They  have  no 
definite  organisation,  no  professional  status, 
no  formal  rules  of  etiquette,  no  exclusive  caste, 
no  artifical  barriers  against  membership.  They 
have  one  standard  of  living,  unorthodoxy ; 
one  bond  of  fellowship,  Bohemianism ;  one 
passport  to  success,  ability ;  one  aversion, 
dulness  ;  one  insidious  enemy,  human  nature ; 
one  unreliable  friend — the  world. 

For  these  workers  of  the  community  there 
should  be,  in  the  aggregate,  a  feeling  of  con- 
siderable respect  and  of  no  little  sympathy.  Of 
respect,  because  in  the  mass  they  accomplish 
great  things.  The  really  first  -  class  journa- 
list showers  a  wealth  of  good  phrasing,  clever 
word-painting,  wise  discrimination,  light  fancy, 
brilliant  humour,  and  saving  common-sense  on 
the  breakfast-tables  of  a  quarter  of  a  million 
people  each  morning.  He  does  all  this  and 
more.  The  result  has  come  to  be  looked 
upon  as  necessary,  obvious,  mechanical,  in  a 
sense  inevitable.  It  represents  to  the  average 
reader   the    outpourings    of  a   great    machine. 


JOURNALISM  51 

And  a  machine  it  certainly  is,  but  one  that 
is  intricately  fashioned,  piece  by  piece,  out 
of  the  minds  and  bodies,  and  hopes  and  fears, 
and  personal  gifts  and  graces  of  tens  of 
hundreds  of  unrecognised  writers.  Unrecog- 
nised —  the  word  that  expresses  always  the 
salvation  of  the  bad  journalist,  and  always  the 
detriment,  or  the  ultimate  ruin,  of  the  good 
one. 

These  men  are  entitled  to  sympathy,  or 
would  be  if  they  did  not  include  in  their  ranks 
so  many  specimens  of  moral  obloquy,  so  many 
hopeless  outcasts  from  all  the  paths  of  reason- 
ably sane  and  tolerable  behaviour.  Journalism 
makes  a  man  acquainted  with  strange  bed- 
fellows. Yet,  taking  it  right  through  it  con- 
tains probably  more  ability  than  all  the  rest 
of  the  professions  put  together,  though  possibly 
less  knowledge  than  is  to  be  found  in  any  one 
of  them.  The  newspaper  writer,  considered 
as  a  type,  is  always  overworked,  and  always 
underpaid.  Australia  in  this  respect  is  no 
exception  to  other  parts  of  the  world.  The 
men  who  labour  behind  the  veil  of  anonymous 
journalism  are  rewarded  for  the  most  part 
with  a  living  wage,  and  are  swept  out  of  sight 


52  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

as  the  new  generation  comes  along.  When 
their  initiative  goes,  they  go.  Time  is  their 
deadHest  enemy.  Instead  of  fighting  for  them 
as  it  fights  for  the  barrister  and  the  medical 
man,  it  is  constantly  threatening  them  with 
loss  of  initiative,  with  loss  of  energy,  with  loss 
of  brilliance.  Honey  is  proverbially  sweet  for 
a  season  ;  but  no  one  knows  better  than  the 
journalist  that  the  laurel  which  he  wins  this 
morning  cannot  last  till  to-morrow. 

As  to  the  products  of  this  handiwork — what 
is  to  be  said  of  them  ?  The  Australian  news- 
paper has  already  developed  a  character  of 
its  own.  Its  place  is  somewhere  between  the 
startling  sensationalism  of  New  York  and  San 
Francisco,  and  the  solemn  impressiveness  of 
the  older  London  school.  The  representative 
editor  balances  himself  between  these  two 
modes  of  journalism.  He  is  seldom  quite  free 
from  the  English  traditions,  but  he  knows  his 
readers  ;  he  knows  that  they,  too.  are  some- 
what under  the  influence  of  the  older  and 
more  respectable  associations  ;  he  knows  that, 
while  they  have  no  taste  for  solid  reading,  and 
are  always  ready  to  be  excited  or  amused, 
they  have   yet  a  contempt   for  machine-made 


JOURNALISM  53 

sensationalism,  for  foolish  and  frothy  elabora- 
tion, for  staring  capital  letters,  for  shriekful 
epithets,  for  the  flimsier  kind  of  composition 
that  rears  itself  on  a  basis  of  sand.  Hence  it 
may  be  that  the  press  of  the  Commonwealth 
has  followed,  for  the  most  part,  a  middle 
course,  and  has  endeavoured  to  be  neither  too 
dull  nor  too  picturesque.  The  effort  has  often 
resulted  in  insignificance ;  but  it  has  now  and 
again  achieved  great  success. 

For  purposes  of  illustration  it  is  not  necessary 
to  go  beyond  Melbourne  and  Sydney.  The 
smaller  capital  cities,  Adelaide,  Brisbane,  and 
Perth,  are  content  as  a  rule  to  follow  their 
leaders.  Whatever  is  good  or  bad,  or  in 
any  way  distinctive  at  the  centre,  you  will 
find  reflected,  though  in  a  slighter  and  paler 
fashion,  in  the  towns  further  north  and  further 
west.  The  same  lines  of  demarcation  hold 
good  throughout  the  continent.  In  each  city 
one  morning  paper  calls  itself  "liberal"  or 
"  national,"  while  its  rival  goes  one  better, 
and  styles  itself  "radical"  or  "democratic." 
The  word  "conservative"  has  become  a 
taunt,  and  is  never  an  acknowledged  title. 
The  predominant  tendency  is  for  the  younger 


54  THE    REAL   AITSTRALIA 

and  more  democratic  organ  to  go  beyond  its 
older  and  more  serious  competitor.  The  only 
important  exception  seems  to  be  that  in 
Perth,  where  the  West  Australian  occupies 
a  unique  position.  It  is  the  accented  mouth- 
piece of  "  groperism  "  ;  that  is  to  say,  of  those 
privileged  few  who  came  to  the  State  in  early 
days,  and  monopolised  as  much  of  the  earth 
as  seemed  worthy  of  their  attention.  Need- 
less to  add,  these  people  are  more  conservative 
than  they  care  to  admit.  The  newspaper  of 
their  choice  is  singularly  popular  considering 
the  circumstances.  Under  the  guidance  of 
an  extraordinarily  far  -  seeing  and  subtle- 
minded  editor  who  has  a  rare  faculty  for 
flattering  a  democratic  audience,  while  really 
ruling  and  guiding  it — who  knows  also  how 
to  bend  to  the  storm  when  to  beat  against  it 
is  no  longer  possible  —  the  West  Australian 
is  more  widely  read,  and  more  influential,  to- 
day than  it  ever  was,  and  that  in  the  midst  of  a 
people  containing  a  stronger  socialistic  infusion 
than  is  to  be  met  with  elsewhere  in  Australia. 

It  is  in  Melbourne  and  Sydney,  however, 
that  we  get  the  most  useful  and  instructive 
illustrations  of  the  working  of  the  journalistic 


JOURNALISM  55 

machine.  The  Age  and  Argus  in  the 
former  city  ;  the  Morning  Herald  and  Daily 
Telegraph  in  Sydney,  represent  the  best  that 
Australia  has  yet  been  able  to  accomplish  in 
this  field  of  enterprise.  The  Age  is  referred 
to  first  because  it  claims,  and  with  an  emphasis 
that  frightens  contradiction,  to  have  the  largest 
circulation  of  any  daily  south  of  the  line.  Its 
political  influence,  though  perhaps  hardly  what 
it  was,  has  also  to  be  reckoned  with.  The 
Age  has  been  in  existence  just  fifty-two  years ; 
it  has  been  consistently  fortunate  in  the  men 
behind  it.  More  especially  it  has  been 
fortunate  in  its  proprietor.  It  owes  its  power, 
its  prestige,  its  circulation,  its  character,  its 
very  existence  to  David  Syme,  who  is  still,  at 
a  venerable  age,  an  active,  working  journalist, 
and  who  has  the  distinction  of  being  the  most 
respected  and  the  most  disliked  man  in 
Australia — perhaps  also  one  of  the  very  best 
liked  by  the  few  who  know  him  really  well. 
That  he  has  used  his  immense  power  fearlessly, 
and  on  the  whole  for  good,  is  unquestionable. 
The  present  editor  of  the  Age  acts  up  to  the 
policy  of  the  proprietor.  Never  laying  claim 
to   pyrotechnical    skill   as    a   writer,    and   not 


56  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

giving  too  much  rein  to  his  imagination,  he  is 
yet  pre-eminently  shrewd,  far  seeing,  clear- 
sighted, well  informed,  capable,  and  where 
business  interests  are  concerned,  inflexible  as 
death  itself  In  private  life  no  man  could  be 
more  popular  or  more  deferentially  urbane. 

The  Argus  suffers  now,  and  has  always 
suffered,  from  want  of  definite  and  decisive 
leadership.  On  its  general  staff  it  has  had 
during  the  past  ten  or  fifteen  years  more 
brilliant  men — considered  as  reporters,  at  any 
rate — than  any  other  daily  paper  in  the 
English  language.  But  instead  of  advancing 
to  meet  the  times  it  has  stood  still,  and  talked 
impressively  of  ^na^ty  things.  More  par- 
ticularly it  has  talked  about  the  dangers  of 
empiricism,  and  the  responsibilities  of  the 
press.  People  read  it,  and  will  continue  to 
read  it,  not  so  much  for  its  opinions,  as  for  the 
graceful  manner  in  which  most  of  its  writers 
contrive  to  deal  with  the  English  language. 
For  the  rest  its  views  on  Imperialism  and 
Free-trade  fall  on  unwilling  ears. 

The  Mor7iing  Herald  is  the  oldest  paper  in 
the  Commonwealth,  and  is  built  on  the  same 
lines  as  the  Argus.     It  has  done  great  things  for 


JOURNALISM  57 

the  tone  and  temper  of  Australian  journalism. 
Latterly,  it  has  been  showing  signs  of 
democratic  restlessness  that  have  caused  its 
older  admirers  a  certain  amount  of  alarm. 

The  Daily  Telegraph  is  the  Mary  Jane  of 
Australian  journalism.  It  is  the  most  active, 
the  most  aggressive,  the  most  tireless,  the 
most  sensation-loving,  the  most  hysterical, 
the  most  shrill-voiced,  the  most  daring,  and 
the  most  inventive  paper  published  on  the 
continent.  It  is  a  slab  of  San  Francisco 
tumbled  down  in  the  vicinity  of  Botany  Bay. 

This  reference  to  certain  leading  journals 
brings  up  a  large  question — the  question  of  the 
power  of  the  newspaper  press  in  Australia. 
Is  it  an  excessive  power?  And  how  does  it 
compare  with  the  power  of  the  press  in  other 
countries  .'*  So  far  as  their  political  creeds  are 
concerned,  the  Australians  have  been  called 
a  newspaper-ridden  community.  They  are 
often  too  tired  to  think,  and  they  let  the  paper 
think  for  them.  The  writer  recollects  calling 
upon  a  prominent  official  who  had  just  returned 
to  Melbourne  after  a  visit  for  •  political  pur- 
poses to  England.  The  first,  and  almost  the 
only  observation    this    gentleman    made,    was 


58  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

that  "They  are  not  afraid  of  the  newspapers 
in  the  old  country."  It  was  this  circumstance 
that  had  impressed  him  more  than  anything 
else,  although  during  his  absence  he  had  been 
everywhere,  and  had  seen  a  great  deal.  If  you 
are  a  public  man  you  must  read  and  despise 
the  papers.  If  you  do  not  read  them,  you 
will  miss  something.  If  you  do  not  despise 
them,  they  will  worry  the  life  out  of  you.  The 
Age  is  the  stock  instance  of  a  paper  from 
which  tens  of  thousands  of  adult,  and 
supposedly  intelligent  voters  have  been 
content  to  take  their  opinions.  This  journal 
has  made  and  unmade  many  Ministries.  The 
Sydney  Daily  Telegraph  is  aspiring  to  fill  the 
same  role,  but  so  far  with  not  the  same  success. 
It  is  quite  certain,  however,  that  Australian 
newspapers  of  the  larger  class  possess  more 
influence  in  certain  directions  than  is  good 
either  for  themselves  or  for  the  community. 

Another  question  very  often  debated  is  that 
of  the  fairness  or  otherwise  of  the  press  of  the 
Commonwealth.  Some  of  the  leading  journals 
have  a  habit  of  assuring  the  public  that  they 
are  scrupulously  fair ;  others  discreetly  say 
nothing  on  the  subject ;   but  almost  every  one 


JOURNALISM  59 

has  adopted  an  admirable  and  impressive 
motto  which  it  places  on  view  in  a  conspicuous 
place  over  the  leading  columns.  The  motto 
may  be  intended  as  a  salve  for  the  consciences 
of  the  management.  There  is  a  well-known 
story  of  a  man  who  was  not  religious,  but  who 
always  took  off  his  hat  when  passing  a  church. 
Having  paid  that  homage  to  his  better  instincts, 
he  naturally  felt  more  at  liberty  to  cultivate 
his  other  ones.  Having  hoisted  his  motto, 
and  having  made  obeisance  to  the  abstract 
idea  of  fairness,  the  newspaper  proprietor  feels 
that  he  must  not  allow  himself  to  be  regarded 
as  in  any  sense  a  bigot,  or  a  moral  fanatic. 
He  has  passed  the  church  and  taken  off  his 
hat.  For  the  rest,  there  are  the  interests  of 
his  paper  to  think  about.  If  these  interests 
do  not  always  coincide  with  the  interests  of 
individuals,  the  circumstance  is  much  to  be 
regretted  —  from,  the  point  of  view  of  the 
individuals. 

Some  admirable  diatribes  have  been  uttered 
from  pulpits  and  platforms,  and  from  Supreme 
Court  benches,  on  the  subject  of  newspaper 
morality  in  Australia.  During  the  hearing  of 
a  recent   libel   case  in   Melbourne,   a  learned 


6o  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

judge  lashed  himself  into  a  white-heat  of 
indignation  over  the  sinfulness  of  press  writers 
who  advocate  views  which  they  do  not  hold, 
and  refrain  from  publishing  statements  which 
they  do  not  like.  His  Honour  found  it  hard 
to  believe  that  such  nipnsters  could  be 
discovered  walking  the  earth  in  the  guise  of 
men.  Similar  sentiments  have  been  echoed 
and  re-echoed  everywhere.  There  is  nothing 
in  the  world  quite  so  fine  as  the  average  man's 
idea  of  what  a  newspaper  ought  to  be.  No 
matter  what  this  average  man  may  be  prepared 
to  do,  or  to  advocate,  or  to  believe  himself, 
he  is  shocked  beyond  measure  to  find  that 
even  an  influential  newspaper  may  have  com- 
mercial instincts,  that  it  may  not  be  disposed 
to  love  its  enemies,  that  it  may  object  to 
publishing  statements  which  tell  against  it, 
that  it  may  be  both  unable  and  unwilling  to 
set  an  example  of  sublime  innocence  and 
spotless  purity  to  the  people  who  read  its 
pages. 

A  newspaper's  virtue,  like  a  woman's,  has 
a  special  meaning,  and  the  meaning  which 
outsiders  attach  to  the  word  "virtue,"  as 
applied    to   a   newspaper,    is    not    necessarily 


JOURNALISM  6i 

that  which  obtains  within  the  craft.  The 
goal  which  every  management  has  in  view  is 
the  goal  of  success — not  spiritual  or  ethical, 
but  hard,  financial,  and  materialistic  success. 
The  proprietor's  virtue,  the  editor's  virtue, 
the  writer's  virtue,  are  synonymous,  among 
members  of  the  profession,  with  the  ability 
to  produce  a  readable,  a  saleable,  and  an 
otherwise  valuable  article.  No  one  blames  a 
lawyer  for  advocating  a  cause  in  which  he 
does  not  believe  ;  no  one  censures  a  grocer 
for  selling  a  brand  of  tea  which  he  does  not 
personally  like ;  no  one  objects  to  a  carpenter 
putting  up  houses  in  which  he  would  not  care 
to  dwell.  Why  should  the  newspaper  be 
accused  of  unfairness  when  it  does  what  is 
best  for  itself  .-^  Like  every  private  individual, 
it  must  keep  within  bounds.  If  it  commits  a 
transgression  there  is  always  the  libel  law. 
If  it  indulges  in  personal  malice,  there  is 
always  the  gaol.  The  singular  thing  is  that 
so  many  journals — particularly  the  patriarchs 
of  Sydney  and  Melbourne  —  should  be  so 
anxious  to  assure  the  public  of  the  excellence 
of  their  intentions.  As  though  good  inten- 
tions had  ever  a  market  value,  as  though  the 


62  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

commercial  instinct  and  the  highest  moral 
principles  were  not  always  and  necessarily 
opposed ! 

What  of  the  newspaper  writer's  calling  as 
such  ?  Is  it  worth  following  ?  From  the 
outside  it  looks  attractive  enough.  Even 
from  the  inside  it  has  its  charms,  meretricious 
and  otherwise.  There  is  a  certain  glitter 
and  glamour  about  the  profession,  particularly 
in  its  early  stages.  The  absence  of  class 
distinctions  helps  the  journalist,  and  makes 
his  work  infinitely  more  agreeable.  To  a 
man  with  a  real  literary  turn  —  or  what  is 
even  better,  a  news'  instinct — promotion  comes 
rapidly.  He  escapes  the  dull  routine  of  other 
callings ;  he  comes  almost  immediately  into 
the  larger  portion  of  his  inheritance.  The 
reputation  that  blossoms  towards  the  end  of 
life,  the  rewards  that  come  eventually,  but 
with  glacial  slowness,  the  solid  and  sure  gains 
of  experience,  all  these  are  no  part  of  his 
outlook.  But  he  acquires  in  a  few  months  a 
reputation  and  a  standing  that  elsewhere  are 
only  the  product  of  years.  He  steps  at  once 
into  a  wide  and  breezy  circle ;  he  is  thrown 
into   daily  contact   with    the  most    interesting, 


JOURNALISM  63 

the  most  notorious,  and  the  most  illustrious 
personages  of  the  time.  About  the  work 
itself  there  is  a  peculiar,  mirage-like  quality  ; 
it  always  seems  to  be  pointing  beyond  the 
desert  of  daily  drudgery,  beyond  the  arid 
region  of  hack-work  and  small  salaries,  to  the 
smiling  country  of  fortune  and  literary  fame. 
The  young  newspaper  writer  "never  is,  but  is 
always  to  be,  blest." 

There  are  many  people  who  do  not  require 
to  be  warned  against  journalism ;  they  drift 
into  it,  or  fall  into  it,  after  chequered  experi- 
ences elsewhere.  But  to  the  youth  who  has 
a  choice  of  professions,  and  who  thinks  of 
choosing  this  one,  a  word  of  counsel  may  be 
tendered.  There  is  no  calling  that  makes 
such  demands  on  talent,  that  asks  so  much,  or 
that  treats  its  tried  servants  so  badly  in  the 
end.  The  man  on  the  general  staff  of  a  big 
Australian  daily,  may  for  a  year  or  two,  or 
for  a  dozen  years,  have  a  good  share  of  what 
the  heart  desires.  He  may  have  a  degree  of 
reputation,  an  amount  of  ready  money,  a 
following  of  friends ;  but  the  money,  the 
friends,  the  reputation  are  all  liable  to  vanish 
at  brief  notice.     The  more  brilliant  the  writer 


64  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

is,  the  more  quickly  does  he  exhaust  his  stock 
of  nervous  energy.  After  the  first  few  years, 
time,  as  already  remarked,  begins  to  work, 
not  for,  but  against  him  ;  the  more  capable 
and  the  more  talked  of  he  is,  the  more  insidi- 
ously do  adverse  influences  begin  to  grow  up. 
As  a  rule,  his  is  not  the  temperament  which 
weighs  chances,  or  lays  up  store  for  the  future  : 
and  when  the  day  of  his  mental  ascendancy 
is  past,  the  management  regretfully  but  firmly 
shows  him  the  door. 

The  writer  has  in  mind  four  representative 
Australian  journalists  whose  abilities  were,  or 
are  now,  of  the  very  highest.  From  the  ranks 
of  any  profession,  or  from  all  the  professions 
together,  it  would  be  difficult  to  pick  in 
Australia  four  men  who  could  boast  in  the 
aggregate  a  greater  measure  of  natural  or  of 
practised  ability.  Each  of  these  four  has,  time 
after  time,  charmed,  interested,  and  amused, 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  perceptive  and 
critical  readers.  Had  they  given  half  the 
same  talent  to  law  or  medicine,  to  science  or 
politics,  each  of  the  four  would  beyond  doubt 
have  become  rich  and  famous.  But  what  has 
happened  ?     One  of  them,  possibly   the  most 


JOURNALISM  6s 

brilliant  of  the  brilliant  quartette,  died  early, 
in  some  measure  a  victim  to  the  hospitality 
and  conviviality  that  his  own  unique  personality 
and  charm  of  manner  invited.  Journalists  in 
Australia  will  not  need  to  be  told  that  the 
reference  is  to  the  late  Davison  Symmons. 
The  other  three  are  still  living.  One  of  them, 
whose  work  conferred  lustre  on  the  Sydney 
Morning  Herald  during  the  middle  'nineties, 
was  in  part  the  victim  of  circumstances,  in 
part  the  prey  of  his  own  temperament.  The 
knowledge  that  he  was  receiving  30s.  or  40s. 
a  column  for  his  efforts,  while  worse  writers 
in  England  were  getting  paid  for  theirs  at 
the  rate  of  shillings  a  liiie,  drove  him  first  to 
misanthropy,  and  afterwards  to  other  things. 
The  third  of  the  quartette  is  the  writer  who 
is  known  throughout  the  continent  by  the 
pen-name  "Oriel."  He  is  at  the  top  of  the 
profession ;  he  is  one  of  the  few  men  in 
Australia  who  have  combined  social  orthodoxy 
with  newspaper  brilliance ;  he  has  worked 
hard,  and  he  has  not  thrown  himself  away. 
But  what  prospects  of  a  tangible  monetary 
reward  are  there  for  the  gifted  "Oriel,"  or  for 
writers  like  "Oriel,"  in  comparison  with  those 

E 


66  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

which  always  await  ihe  cattle  dealer,  the  rag 
merchant,  or  the  bluffing  attorney  ?  The 
fourth  of  these  typical  journalists  is  he  who 
disguised  himself  in  the  columns  of  the 
Melbourne  Argus  and  chronicled  cricket, 
football,  and  other  small  beer  for  quite  a 
number  of  years.  He  might  have  continued 
to  do  so  indefinitely,  had  not  the  accident  of 
the  South  African  war  given  him  a  reputation 
and  a  name. 

These  are  only  a  few  illustrations,  but  they 
will  suffice.  The  individual  who  launches  out 
on  the  inky  way  must  be  prepared  to  be 
judged  critically  on  his  merits,  and  to  be 
treated  without  leniency  or  favour.  He  must 
submit,  for  a  time  at  any  rate,  to  do  the 
bidding  of  a  man  who  is  also  a  journalist, 
and  perhaps  a  less  competent  one  than  him- 
self. He  must  throw  his  illusions  overboard  ; 
he  must  learn  to  give  and  take  ;  he  must 
be  watchful  and  ready,  prompt  to  observe, 
and  quick  to  act ;  and  he  must  be  prepared 
to  go  without  the  richer  prizes  that  can  be 
won  in  the  warehouse,  or  in  the  domain  of 
medicine,  or  at  the   Bar. 

Yet,    if    the   would-be   journalist    possesses 


JOURNALISM  67 

certain  qualifications,  in  addition  to  literary- 
skill,  he  may  be  recommended  to  join  the 
ranks  of  the  unlisted  legion.  If  he  has  a 
saving  sense  of  self-restraint ;  if  he  has  the 
faculty  for  seeing  ahead ;  if  he  has  a  definite 
amount  of  moral  stamina  ;  if  he  can  treat  the 
profession,  not  as  an  end,  but  as  a  means  to 
an  end ;  if  he  can  live  through  it  and 
eventually  rise  above  it  —  if  he  can  do  this, 
the  press  is  his  most  perfect  and  his  ideal 
medium.  The  monetary  test  is  not  the  final 
one.  The  working  journalists  can  at  least 
take  to  themselves  one  or  two  reflections. 
The  ways  of  the  grocer  and  of  the  apothecary, 
of  the  lawyer  and  the  bill-discounter,  are  not 
their  ways.  Government  House  may  not 
know  them,  and  the  drawing-rooms  of  Toorak 
and  Potts'  Point  may  forget  their  feet.  But 
they  have  their  consolations.  They  are  the 
rebels  and  the  outlaws,  and  yet  a  strange 
paradox — the  entertainers,  the  instructors,  the 
beacons  of  the  whole  reading  world. 


IV 

THE    GAME    OF    POLITICS 

Is  it  not  better,  youth 
Should  strive,  through  acts  uncouth, 
Toivard  making,  than  repose  on  aught  found  made  ? 

The  game  of  politics   as  played  in   Australia 

has  a  certain  vogue  with  almost  every  class. 

In  numerous  directions  are  to  be  found  striking 

evidences  of  the   pervading  character  of  this 

form    of    recreation.       Every   state,    including 

those   whose    population    is    only  half  that  of 

a    decent    sized    English    town,    has    its   two 

Houses  of  Legislature,  and   all    of  the  states 

in  unison  have   their  double-barrelled  Federal 

Parliament.     Thus  we  get  a  total  of  fourteen 

Houses    of    Parliament,     and     nearer    seven 

hundred     than      six     hundred      members     to 

represent  barely  four  millions  of  people.     The 

amount  of  space  these  fourteen    Houses  and 

these  six  hundred  and   seventy  odd   members 

take  up  in  the  newspapers,  and  other  chronicles 

of  the  time,  is  enormous.     Looking  at  some  of 

the    facts,  one  would    be   inclined  to  say  that 

68 


THE  GAME   OF   POLITICS  69 

the  word  "recreation"  was  a  misnomer,  that 
the  whole  business  was  intensely  and  almost 
preternaturally  serious.  If  a  man  confined  his 
reading  to  the  journals  of  Australia,  if  he 
talked  to  mechanics  on  their  way  home  from 
work,  or  to  business  men  over  their  coffee, 
if  he  attended  only  a  few  of  the  open-air 
meetings  that  are  a  feature  of  the  life  of  the 
country,  he  would  inevitably  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  whole  duty  of  man  in  Australia 
was  to  record  his  vote,  to  watch  his  represen- 
tative in  Parliament,  to  burn  incense  to  the 
proved  and  faithful  servant,  and  to  hurl 
violently  from  his  seat  any  individual  who 
ventured  to  tamper  for  a  moment  with  the 
principles  of  justice,  equality,  democracy, 
individualism,  socialism,  or  whatever  the 
prevalent  principle  happened  to  be. 

This  would  be  a  reasonable  conclusion  in 
certain  circumstances,  but  it  would  be  an 
entirely  erroneous  one.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
the  game  is  never  really  serious.  In  a  land 
like  Australia  where  many  things  are  dull, 
and  lifeless,  and  mechanical,  the  tone  and 
temper  of  public  affairs  must  be  regarded  as  a 
pleasant  relief.     From   the  deadly  seriousness 


70  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

of  cricket  and  horse-racing  to  the  essentially 
humorous  quality  of  politics,  is  the  most  agree- 
able of  transitions.  It  is  an  incontestable 
fact  that  Australia  is  distinguished  among 
all  civilised  countries  for  the  buoyant  atmo- 
sphere, the  mirth-provoking  attributes,  and  the 
Gilbertian  features  associated  with  its  politics — 
features  that  constitute,  indeed,  the  whole  sub- 
stance and  essence  of  the  game. 

To  be   a   successful    player,   you    require   a 

certain  amount  of  aptitude,  and  a  large  measure 

of  good  fortune.      Let  it  be  assumed  that  you 

are  a  spectator,   and  desire   to  be  something 

more  ;  that  you  are  anxious  to  get  among  the 

players,  to  handle  the  stakes,  to  hold  a  winning 

chance.     The  task  is  easier — much  easier — in 

Australia  than  it  is   in  Great  Britain,  but  yet 

it  is   never   altogether    easy.     The   unwritten 

laws  governing  success  and  failure  are  uncertain 

and  peculiar.     You   are  anxious  to  sit  at  the 

table   among   the   players.     It  remains    to  be 

seen  what  kind  of  hand  you  have  got.     There 

are  certain  cards  it  is  very  desirable  to  hold  ; 

others    you    can    do    without.     Take    it    for 

granted  that  fortune  has  dealt  you  enterprise, 

ambition,     intelligence,     power     of    grasping 


THE  GAME   OF   POLITICS  71 

political  questions,  faculty  of  speech,  capacity 
for  winning  friends.  This  is  a  useful  hand, 
but  will  not  of  itself  get  you  what  you  want. 
If  somebody  plays  the  stronger  card,  that  is 
to  say  the  power  of  the  purse,  you  will  go 
under  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  ;  you  will  remain 
always  among  the  onlookers  in  the  outer  ring, 
and  will  never  get  to  the  table.  It  is  necessary 
to  make  this  point  clear.  To  say  that  the 
moneyed  man  can  do  what  he  likes  in 
Australia,  and  that  wit,  eloquence,  industry, 
and  the  rest  are  always  beaten  by  a  large 
banking  account,  would  be  to  commit  one- 
self to  a  foolish  and  palpable  exaggeration. 
But  no  sane  man  would  deny  that,  in  the 
game  now  under  consideration,  Power  of  the 
Purse  is  the  Ace  of  Trumps,  and  that  to 
counterbalance  it  a  very  strong  collection  of 
cards  indeed  is  required. 

There  are  many  things  that  have  to  be 
reckoned  with  by  the  man  who  desires  to 
enter  politics  in  Australia,  but  there  is  little 
outside  the  cloven  hoof  of  mammon  that  he 
can  safely  reckon  on.  The  sands  of  public 
opinion  are  shifting,  changing.  Even  that 
useful  attribute,  gift  of  speech,  is  by  no  means 


72  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

a  certain    passport    to    the  post  of  command. 
The  crowd    is    jealous  and    suspicious    of  too 
much  ability.      It  is  not  pleasant  for  mediocrity 
to  see   itself  outstripped    by  talent.       A    man 
may   talk   himself  into    Parliament.      On    the 
other  hand,   he    may  talk    himself  out  of  the 
possibility   of  ever   getting   there.     So   much 
depends  on  the  impression  the  crowd  gets  of 
the  speaker's  sincerity,  of  his  earnestness,  of 
his  moral,  social,  and  other  qualities.      It  may 
happen — in  thousands  of  cases  it  has  happened 
— that  a  man  who  can  speak  with  the  tongues 
of  men  and  of  ano-els,  and  whose   whole  life 
has    been     patriotically    unselfish,     has     been 
unable  to  gain  a  place  in  the  counsels  of  the 
nation.      For  some  reason  the  onlookers  would 
not  take  to  him  ;  they  have  disliked  or  misread 
his  cards,  disliked  or  misread  the  man.     The 
influence  of  the  Trades'  Union  is  one  powerful 
lever.     Many  a  man  has  succeeded  in  entering 
public  life  by  its  aid ;  but  the  Trades'  Union 
is  becoming  to  a  greater  extent  each  year  a 
political    conglomeration  of   fiercely  ambitious 
units,    and    nine  -  tenths   of   the  speakers   who 
declaim  at  a  Trades'  Hall  or  Union  meeting 
have     Parliament    in    view.     Every    speaker 


THE  GAME   OF   POLITICS  73 

watches,  criticises,  and  mistrusts  every  other 
speaker.  In  the  rush  for  the  spoils  it  is 
difficult  to  say  who  will,  and  who  will  not,  come 
eventually  to  the  front.  Capacity  has  to  be 
shown,  friends  have  to  be  made,  opponents 
have  to  be  silenced,  rival  interests  have  to  be 
placated,  cliques  have  to  be  frustrated,  logs 
have  to  be  rolled,  wires  have  to  be  pulled,  and 
much  else  has  to  be  done  before  the  goal  can 
be  attained.  To  the  participant  it  is  all  very 
exciting,  and  to  the  onlooker  it  is  very  droll 
indeed. 

But  it  is  in  Parliament  that  the  fascination 
of  the  game  really  begins.  So  fascinating  is 
it  to  the  great  majority  of  the  participants  who 
have  reached  this  stage,  that  you  will  scarcely 
find  one  in  a  hundred  who  will  offer  to  give  up 
his  place  at  the  table,  no  matter  how  his 
chances  of  winning  a  large  stake  may  have 
dwindled,  no  matter  how  much  he  may  be  out 
of  pocket,  no  matter  how  his  fellow-players 
may  be  wishing  him  somewhere  else.  To 
say  this  is  not  to  suggest  the  worst  kind  of 
motive,  or  to  cast  reflections  on  individuals. 
The  writer  knov/s  a  great  many  Australian 
politicians,  and  is  inclined  to  think  that  on  the 


74  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

whole  he  Hkes  them  better  than  any  other 
class.  He  regards  them  as,  for  the  most  part, 
genial,  pleasant  fellows.  Speaking  broadly, 
they  are  not  dull  -  witted,  and  they  are  not 
corrupt.  There  was  a  time  when  the  average 
member  of  an  English  Parliament  was  both. 
The  Australian  politician  is  usually  a  good 
sportsman  :  he  can  take  his  winnings  without 
boasting,  and  he  can  take  his  failures  like  a 
man.  He  is  under  no  illusions  as  to  his  own 
aims,  or  his  own  qualities.  He  knows  that 
it  is  to  his  interest  to  be  considered  as  a 
patriot,  and  he  knows  also,  in  his  heart  of 
hearts  he  knows,  that  he  is  only  a  player. 
Let  us  quote  Browning,  and  thank  God  that 
the  meanest  politician  boasts  two  soul-sides, 
one  to  face  his  constituents  with,  one  to  show 
to  the  man  or  woman  who  knows  him.  Let 
us  thank  God,  for  if  it  were  otherwise  the  race 
of  public  men  would  cease  to  exist.  They 
would  be  consumed  in  the  fires  of  their  own 
simulated  fervour.  And  some  highly  interesting 
proceedings  would  be  lost  to  the  world. 

It  is  assumed,  then,  that  the  first  step  has 
been  taken,  that  you  have  got  to  the  playing 
table,    that   you   are   directly   under    the    eye 


THE  CAME   OF   POLITICS  75 

of  the  marker  who  calls  the  game.  The  fun 
is  now  about  to  commence,  and  with  it 
the  danger.  You  are  untried,  and  practi- 
cally unknown.  The  first  thing  to  do  in  the 
circumstances  is  to  get  into  opposition.  The 
manner  of  doing  this  requires  a  great  deal  of 
tact  and  finesse.  Many  a  man,  and  many  a 
possessor  of  a  naturally  strong  hand,  has  spoilt 
it  irrevocably  by  playing  a  wrong  card  at  this 
early  stage.  The  probabilities  are  that  you 
were  carried  into  Parliament  on  a  wave  of 
enthusiasm  for  the  Government.  You  were 
chosen  to  sit  behind  the  front  Ministerial 
Benches.  Your  constituents  expect  this  of 
you.  Now,  it  is  just  possible  to  do  precisely 
what  your  constituents  do  not  expect  of  you, 
and  yet,  not  only  keep  their  good  opinion, 
but  rise  very  much  higher  in  it.  This,  I  say, 
is  possible,  but  so  far  from  being  easy,  it  is 
distinctly  the  hardest  piece  of  strategy  in  the 
whole  political  manoeuvre. 

However,  something  has  to  be  done.  You 
are  unknown,  and  far  from  rich ;  you  are 
ambitious,  and  cannot  afford  to  remain  for 
years  an  obscure  unit  among  the  followers 
of   the   party   in   office.      The   fascination   of 


76  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

the  play  is  upon  you ;  there  are  tens  of 
thousands  of  spectators  watching  intently, 
keenly  interested,  waiting  to  applaud.  The 
temptation  to  catch  their  eye  —  that  large 
collective  eye  which  overlooks  the  continent 
— is  irresistible.  You  are  invisible  because 
of  the  Ministerial  phalanx  in  front  of  and 
around  you,  and  it  is  necessary  to  get  clear, 
to  break  away. 

The  opportunity  will  almost  certainly  arrive 
before  long.     The  clever  gamester  is  he  who 
recognises    the    chance    when    it   appears  and 
makes   the    most   of    it.     You    must    have    a 
certain  amount  of  patience.     It   is  ruinous  to 
be  too  precipitate,  but  it  will  almost  certainly 
happen,  and  probably  before  the  end  of  your 
first    triennial    term,     that    the    Premier    will 
come    down    with  certain  proposals    to   which 
you    are    not    committed    before    the    eyes    of 
your  constituents,  and   which  are   intrinsically 
important  enough    to   arouse   popular  feeling. 
This    is    the   opportunity    to    break    with    the 
Government.     But  as  you  represent  a  govern- 
ment constituency  you  must  be  careful.     You 
must  go  to  the  electors  and  take  them   into 
your  confidence ;   you  must  explain  that  after 


THE   GAME   OF   POLITICS  77 

a  tremendous  and  heart  -  breaking  struggle 
between  devotion  to  a  political  leader  and 
devotion  to  principle,  the  latter  carried  the 
day.  It  is  well  to  point  out  —  as  truthfully 
you  may  do  —  that  your  threats,  tears,  and 
entreaties  have  been  fruitless  to  turn  the 
Premier  from  his  fell  purpose ;  that  your 
expostulations  have  fallen  on  deaf  ears. 
Henceforth,  you  may  add,  all  personal  attach- 
ments, all  private  longings,  all  political 
amenities,  are  to  you  as  nought ;  all  the 
friendships  of  a  lifetime  have  been  laid  on 
the  altar ;  for  the  future  you  live  only  in  the 
endeavour  humbly  but  unswervingly  to  give 
effect  to  those  eternal  principles  in  comparison 
with  the  majesty  of  which,  the  life  and  aspira- 
tions of  the  individual  are  as  the  small  dust  in 
the  balance,  are  a  not  worth  naming  sacrifice. 

Once  in  opposition  it  will  be  found  that 
your  sphere  has  extended,  your  reputation 
increased.  It  is  now  possible  to  marshal 
all  your  forces.  Allusions  can  be  made  that 
would  previously  have  been  inadmissible ; 
words  can  be  used  that  before  would  have 
been  treason.  At  this  period  of  the  game  it 
is  advisable  to  cultivate  a  method,  a  manner 


78  THE    REAL  AUSTRALIA 

of  your  own.  It  is  desirable  to  be  in  some 
way  distinctive.  There  is  much  virtue  in  a 
particular  look,  in  a  mode  of  speech,  in  a 
mannerism.  If  you  have  not  the  main  thing, 
which  is  natural  ability  and  power  of  carrying 
conviction,  it  is  possible  to  get  something 
else — something  that  will  focus  the  attention 
of  the  spectators  in  the  outer  ring.  Every 
one  knows  the  story  of  the  man  who  laughed. 
He  has  had  his  counterpart,  and  a  very 
successful  counterpart,  in  Australian  politics. 
It  will  be  recorded  of  one  man  of  obscure 
beginnings  that  he  was  a  genial,  capable, 
extremely  popular  person,  who  laughed,  and 
became  Premier  of  Victoria.  If  laughing  is 
not  your  metier,  if  it  goes  against  the  grain, 
it  is  just  as  effective,  or  even  more  so,  to 
cultivate  a  cast-iron  demeanour.  The  "cool, 
calm,  strong  man  "  has  been  played  admirably 
on  several  occasions,  by  none  more  finely 
and  successfully  than  by  Mr  W.  H.  Irvine, 
of  Victoria.  Yet  another  pose  that  will 
often  be  found  extremely  useful  is  that  of  the 
bluff  devil-take-you  kind  of  individual,  as 
impersonated  by  Mr  Thomas  Bent,  of  con- 
temporary fame,    and    by   Sir  George   Dibbs, 


THE   GAME   OF   POLITICS  79 

of  happy  memory.  The  astute  Cornwall  in 
King  Lear  says  some  words  to  the  effect 
that  this  kind  of  knave — the  bluff,  outspoken 
knave — has  more  craft  than  any  other  kind 
that  could  be  mentioned.  However  that  may 
be,  the  gruffly  candid  demeanour  has  proved 
useful  in  Australian  politics  in  the  past,  and 
is  likely  to  prove  useful  again.  Then  there 
is  the  humorous  pose,  of  which  Mr  G.  H. 
Reid  furnishes  the  best  living  example.  This 
is  invaluable  at  times,  but  its  successful 
adoption  is  so  difficult  that  it  cannot  be 
generally  recommended.  Only  the  highest 
kind  of  ability  should  venture  to  undertake 
this  manner.  It  may  be  of  advantage  to 
affect  a  plain,  or  even  a  dowdy,  appearance. 
The  first  Federal  Treasurer  wore  an  old  suit 
of  brown  clothes  for  a  lengthy  period,  and 
with  conspicuously  good  results.  But,  what- 
ever you  cultivate,  whether  it  is  the  manner 
of  the  sage  or  the  buffoon,  of  the  circus  or 
of  the  graveyard,  it  is  necessary  to  cultivate 
something,  and  to  cultivate  it  well. 

With  a  modicum  of  good  luck,  and  a 
sufficiency  of  good  management,  almost  any 
one  can  rise  to  Ministerial  rank  in  Australia, 


8o  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

or  for  that  matter  can  obtain  the  highest  post 
of  vantage,  namely  the  Premiership.  The 
comparative  shade  of  private  membership  is 
no  sooner  left  behind  than  the  game  takes 
on  still  different  phases.  The  cards  are 
reshuffled,  the  partners  are  altered,  the  rules 
are  revised.  The  play  is  as  fascinating  as 
ever — even  more  so — but  it  has  become  much 
more  difficult,  much  more  complex.  One  has 
only  to  reflect  for  a  moment  on  the  absence 
of  any  really  live  question  in  colonial  politics 
to  understand  the  trouble  that  the  head  of  a 
Government  must  have  to  keep  up  some 
semblance  of  enthusiasm  in  the  country,  and 
to  retain  his  place.  There  is  no  large  Imperial 
question.  There  is  no  Home  Rule  question. 
There  is  no  longer  a  tariff  question,  although 
there  are  occasional  murmurino-s  and  mutterinofs 
from  one  or  two  sections  of  the  people,  and 
from  one  or  two  dissatisfied  newspapers.  It 
is  impossible  to  beat  up  a  party,  either  in  the 
State  or  the  Federal  Parliament,  on  such 
lines  as  Imperialism,  Nationalism,  Jingoism, 
Fiscalism,  Conservatism,  or  any  other  "  ism  " 
belonging  to  the  larger  domain  of  national 
affairs.     What   is   there    left   to   fight   about? 


THE   GAME   OF   POLITICS  8i 

There  is  very  little.  In  three  cases  out  of 
four  the  incoming  Government  takes  up  the 
measures  of  its  predecessor.  In  three  cases 
out  of  four  the  differences,  other  than  the 
personal  ones,  are  barely  discernible.  In  this 
political  atmosphere  of  Australia,  Amurath  with 
Amurath  is  eternally  being  confounded. 

The  rise  of  the  Labour  Party  has  been  the 
most  remarkable  feature  of  the  situation  during 
the  past  three  or  four  years,  and  the  whole 
history  of  the  Labour  Party  is  the  most  con- 
spicuous illustration  of  the  general  truth  of 
what  has  just  been  said.  In  Opposition  it 
has  been  magnificently  strong  and  war-like. 
It  has  talked,  through  its  leaders  and  its  units, 
firmly  and  finely  of  the  necessity  of  check- 
mating capitalistic  greed,  of  nationalising 
industries,  of  abolishing  the  large  land-owner, 
of  setting  up  a  State  Bank,  of  establishing  a 
State  iron  industry,  of  taxing  the  wealthy  for 
the  benefit  of  the  poor,  of  granting  pensions 
to  the  aged  workers,  of  saving  the  weak  from 
the  strong,  of  improving  industrial  conditions, 
of  giving  every  man  a  fair  return  for  his  labour, 
of  shortening  hours,  of  widening  the  avenues 
of  employment,  of  adding  something  material 

F 


82  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

and  tangible  to  the  pleasures  of  the  people. 
The  Labour  Party  out  of  office  has  talked 
impressively  of  all  these  things — so  impres- 
sively, indeed,  that  it  has  been  taken  at  its 
word.  During  the  last  year  or  two,  Labour 
Ministries  have  been  in  power  in  the  Federal 
Parliament,  in  Queensland,  and  in  Western 
Australia.  What  has  happened  ?  Where  is 
the  monopoly  that  has  been  nationalised  ? 
Where  are  the  wages  that  have  been 
increased  ?  Where  is  the  Bank  that  has  been 
established  ?  Where  is  the  land  tax  that  was 
promised  ?  Where  are  the  old  age  pensions 
in  Queensland,  in  Western  Australia  or  in  the 
Federal  Parliament  ?  More  than  this  :  where 
are  the  records  of  any  serious  attempt  on  the 
part  of  one  of  the  Labour  Ministries  of 
Australia  to  nationalise  even  one  industry, 
to  check  capitalisation,  to  pay  old  age  pensions, 
to  run  a  State  Bank,  or  to  do  anything  that 
the  average  Liberal,  or  even  the  so-called 
Conservative  Opposition  would  not  cheerfully 
undertake?  Not  only  has  there  been  nothing 
revolutionary  accomplished,  but  nothing  revolu- 
tionary has  been  even  tried. 

To  keep  your  place  at  the   inner  table,    to 


THE   GAME   OF   POLITICS  83 

be  able  for  any  length  of  time  to  set  the  pace 
for  the  rest  of  the  numerous  company,  it  is 
necessary  to  remember  that  the  other  players, 
and  not  yourself,  are  the  actual  masters  of 
the  situation.  By  proceeding  warily,  and  by 
showing  a  thorough  knowledge  of  every 
unwritten  rule  and  precept,  you  may  get  as 
much  as  a  reasonable  man  should  require. 
You  may  have  the  appearance,  if  not  the 
substance  of  power,  and  all  the  honours, 
emoluments,  lime-light  and  other  accessories 
connected  with  it.  But  to  attempt  to  run  a 
crusade  of  your  own,  or  to  attempt  to  put 
into  practice  the  sentiments  you  preached  in 
opposition,  is  merely  to  commit  hari-kari,  to 
rush  on  your  own  doom.  The  Labour  Party, 
or  the  more  intelligent  members  of  it,  have 
found  this  out.  My  own  opinion  is  that  the 
Labour  leader  is  a  trifle  less  insincere  on  the 
whole,  than  the  average  leader  of  any  other 
party  or  section.  Yet  the  difference  between 
the  fighting  Labourist's  word  in  opposition 
and  his  performance  in  office  is  great  and 
ghastly.  It  is  not  necessary  to  blame  him. 
He  has  simply  had  to  realise  that  Australia 
is  in  a  condition,  politically  speaking,  of  being 


84  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

willing  to  listen  to  everything,  and  of  being 
able  to  accomplish  nothing.  It  is  always  talk- 
ing about  its  breathless  speed,  and  perpetually 
falling  down  in  the  mud. 

Undoubtedly  the  most  humorous,  the  most 
delightful,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  useful 
institution  known  to  the  continent  is  the  Upper 
House,  or  Legislative  Council.  What  the 
Premier  of  the  day  would  do  without  this 
stand-by,  it  is  barely  possible  to  surmise.  To 
the  head  of  an  allegedly  Radical  government, 
the  Tory  Chamber  is  always  a  God  -  send. 
Even  the  cleverest  tactician  finds  now  and 
again  that  he  must  press  forward  when  in 
office  with  measures  that  he  advocated  when 
sitting  on  the  left  hand  benches.  It  is  an 
awkward  predicament  for  many  reasons.  He 
knows  that  if  the  reform  is  carried,  it  will 
probably  bring  about  a  reaction,  and  that  he 
himself  will  almost  certainly  be  hurled  from 
office  at  the  next  election.  Yet  he  dare  not 
jettison  the  principal  plank  in  his  fighting 
platform.  What  is  he  to  do  ?  Amid  the 
storm  clouds  that  are  all  round  him,  out  of 
the  night  that  encompasses  him,  above  the 
tempest  that  is  driving  him  irresistibly  forward 


THE   GAME   OF   POLITICS  85 

there  gleams  one  ray  of  light  —  the  light  of 
the  Legislative  Council.  There  it  is,  straight 
ahead,  standing  between  himself  and  swift  and 
sudden  extinction.  Confidently  he  presses  on. 
His  vessel  triumphantly  breasts  the  waves  of 
the  Representative  House,  and  is  dashed  to 
pieces  on  the  adamantine  rock  of  the  Council's 
inaccessibility.  But  he  himself  is  safe.  He 
gains  breathing  time  while  the  fragments  of 
his  craft  are  being  pieced  together  again.  His 
constituents  are  satisfied.  He  comes  back 
stronger  than  ever  from  the  next  election,  and 
goes  through  the  performance  again. 

Will  any  one  deny  that  all  these  possibilities, 
all  these  variations,  all  these  moves  and 
countermoves,  all  these  chances  of  success, 
all  these  risks  of  failure,  go  to  make  the 
pursuit  of  the  political  prize  in  Australia  one 
of  the  most  absorbing  in  which  man  can 
engage  ?  The  governing  fact  as  already 
stated  is  that  the  game  is  not  confined  to  a 
privileged  class,  as  is  practically  the  case  in 
England.  Subject  to  certain  conditions,  it  is 
open  to  all.  It  is  true  that  the  possessor  of 
a  banking  account  has  an  advantage.  In  the 
language  of  pedestrianism,  he  beats  the  pistol ; 


86  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

he  gets  a  certain  start  every  time.  But 
the  start  is  not  so  great  that  it  cannot  by  a 
display  of  agility  be  overtaken.  And  the  fact 
remains  that  the  chief  attraction  of  Australia 
from  the  player's  point  of  view,  and  one  of 
the  chief  risks  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
spectator,  is  that  political  competitions  are 
conducted  actually,  as  well  as  nominally, 
irrespective  of  wealth,  or  rank,  or  status  in 
life. 

It  is  hardly  profitable  to  indulge  in  generali- 
sation as  to  the  kind  of  ability  that  is  needed 
for  success  in  public  life.  A  certain  kind  of 
man  flourishes,  and  another  kind — the  opposite 
kind — is  seen  to  fall ;  but  in  a  year  or  two 
the  positions  are  reversed,  and  the  set  of 
qualities  which  seemingly  commanded  success 
are  those  which  invite  or  compel  failure. 
Therefore  the  generalising  process  is  for  the 
most  part  vain.  But  if  one  were  asked  to 
name  the  attribute  that  is  most  useful  to  an 
Australian  politician  —  the  attribute  that  it  is 
ruinous  to  be  without — one  might  be  tempted 
to  mention  knowledge  of  human  nature.  The 
phrase  implies  a  great  deal.  It  implies  such 
characteristics  as  tact,  foresight,  and  sense  of 


THE   GAME   OF    POLITICS  87 

the  fitness  of  things  ;  power  of  being  genial, 
or  of  seeming  to  be  genial ;  knowledge  of  when 
to  strike,  and  when  to  refrain  from  striking. 
It  means  the  capacity  to  put  yourself  in  the 
place  of  those  for  whom  you  are  legislating, 
to  whom  you  are  appealing.  It  suggests  in 
the  possessor  a  degree  of  intellect,  combined 
with  a  degree  of  sensibility.  It  is  the  opposite 
of  narrowness,  of  bigotry,  of  fanaticism,  and 
of  folly  of  the  more  glaring  kind. 

A  second  quality  to  be  considered  eminently 
desirable  is  that  of  accessibility.  In  the 
vernacular  this  is  usually  called  "absence  of 
frill."  It  is  an  asset  well-nigh  indispensable 
for  any  successful  public  man  in  Australia, 
though  it  must  not  be  confounded  —  as  it 
sometimes  is — with  lack  of  dignity.  Most  of 
the  leaders  of  ministries  and  heads  of  parties 
that  I  have  met  in  Australia  have  been,  and 
are,  extremely  dignified ;  and,  as  a  rule,  the 
most  dignified  have  been  the  most  accessible. 
It  is  not  the  kind  of  dignity  that  surrounds 
itself  with  much  outward  pomp  and  ornament ; 
not  the  kind  that  emulates  Mr  Forcible  Feeble, 
and  proclaims  its  existence  as  loudly  as  possible, 
for   fear   that    it    should    be    overlooked.       It 


88  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

is  the  dignity  that  results  from  mental  pro- 
cesses not  visible  to  the  eye  of  the  vulgar. 
It  can  unbend,  jest,  laugh,  look  stern,  wear 
the  mask  of  folly  or  any  other  mask,  because 
it  is  sure  of  itself.  The  fortifications  of  reserve, 
and  the  serried  front  of  isolation,  utilised  by 
the  typical  English  Prime  Minister,  are  not 
wanted  in  Australia.  Here  the  obscure  unit 
and  the  political  chief  meet  on  equal  social 
terms,  to  the  advantage  not  merely  of  the 
one,  but  of  the  other  as  well. 

A  third  qualification  which  may  be  mentioned 
as  very  desirable,  if  not  as  absolutely  necessary, 
has  been  already  alluded  to  as  the  gift  of  speech. 
To  accomplish  much  in  public  life  in  Australia, 
it  is  necessary  to  talk,  and  to  talk  a  great  deal. 
Whether  it  is  on  a  platform  or  in  the  open  air ; 
whether  it  is  within  the  walls  of  Parliament  or 
outside  them,  you  must,  if  you  desire  to  become 
well  known,  tell  the  public  something,  and 
keep  on  telling  it  to  them.  The  Australians 
are  quick,  impressionable,  receptive  -  minded. 
Their  highest  awards  are  given,  in  nine  cases 
out  of  ten,  to  the  man  who  can  appeal  to  them 
in  the  most  direct,  the  most  personal,  and  the 
most  intelligible  way. 


THE   GAME   OF   POLITICS  89 

The  four  men  who  have  held  office  as  Prime 
Minister  of  the  Commonwealth  form,  in  the 
aggregate  and  as  individuals,  the  best  illustra- 
tions of  the  qualities  just  enumerated.  Each 
has  displayed  a  sound  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  evidencing  the  knowledge  by  his  many- 
sidedness,  his  tact,  his  judgement,  his  mingled 
daring  and  caution,  his  willingness  to  com- 
promise. Each  has  made  himself  readily 
approachable,  alike  to  indignant  people  who 
had  grievances  to  ventilate,  to  friendly  people 
who  had  congratulations  to  utter,  to  news- 
paper people  who  had  questions  to  ask — in 
fact  to  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  people  who 
used  the  right  means  of  approach.  And  each 
has  been  endowed  with  the  gift  of  speech. 
Two  of  them — Mr  Reid  and  Mr  Deakin — 
have  exhibited  it  in  a  singular  and  superlative 
degree.  Sir  Edmund  Barton  is  a  speaker 
of  the  very  front  rank.  Even  Mr  Watson, 
though  not  a  fiery,  forensic  orator,  is  a  very 
able  debater.  Only  those  who  have  heard 
and  watched  him  in  Parliament  know  how 
keen  and  capable  and  resourceful  he  really  is. 
Quite  apart  from  these  individual  instances, 
facts    may    be    found   to    show  that   one    may 


90  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

apply  over  the  whole  field  of  Federal  and 
State  politics  the  conclusions  just  arrived  at. 
To  be  a  prominent  public  man  in  Australia 
it  is  not  necessary  to  do  great  things,  but  to 
act  as  though  you  could  do  them,  or  wished 
to  do  them,  or  would  be  certain  of  doing 
them  if  you  got  the  chance. 

'Tis  not  what  man  does  which  exalts  him,  but 
what  man  would  do. 

Achievement  is  dangerous,  or  fatal ;  the 
promise  of  achievement  is  brilliant  or  inspiring. 
The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  Australians 
are  engaged,  individually  and  collectively,  in 
a  game  of  which  they  cannot  see  the  end. 
Politically  speaking,  they  don't  yet  know 
where  they  are,  or  where  within  the  course 
of  a  generation  they  are  likely   to  arrive. 


PSEUDO-LITERARY 

This  world's  no  blot  for  us, 
Nor  blank  ;  it  means  intensely  and  means  good  : 
To  find  its  meaning  is  my  meat  and  drink. 

It  is  strange  that  a  people  possessed  of 
literary  instincts,  and  of  the  literary  temper, 
should  be  without  a  literature  of  their  own ; 
but  so  it  is.  The  shadow  of  a  remembered 
personality  does  indeed  flit  now  and  then 
across  the  brief  page  of  Australian  history. 
There  was  a  writer  of  verses  named  Lindsay 
Gordon,  and  a  novelist  of  repute  named 
Marcus  Clarke.  Each  of  these  struck  out  a 
path  for  himself.  Each  left  a  record  that  will 
not  soon  be  forgotten.  But  neither  was  a 
product  of  the  Southern  Hemisphere ;  neither 
could  be  described  as  native,  "and  to  the 
manner  born "  ;  and  neither  of  the  two,  nor 
both  together,  could  be  credited  with  creating 
a  literature  for  the  country  in  which  their 
work  was  done. 

It  is  true  there  have   been,  and  there  are, 
91 


92  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

others  of  note.  There  was  a  poet  who  wrote 
some  very  fine  lines  about  the  yellow-haired 
September,  about  waste  places  of  Kerguelen, 
about  lost  Lorraines,  about  a  frail,  flower-like, 
dead  Araluen,  and  about  much  besides.  It 
would  argue  ignorance  of  the  subject  to  be 
unaware  that  the  book  of  rhymes  beginning 
with  an  account  of  the  man  from  "  Snowy 
River"  has  sold  to  the  extent  of  30,000 
copies,  or  more.  There  is  the  statement, 
made  on  what  seems  reliable  authority,  that 
the  author  of  Our  Selection  was  paid  for 
a  continuation  of  that  work  the  remarkable 
sum  of  ^500.  And  Victor  Daley  was,  until 
a  few  months  ago,  alive  amongst  us.  The 
torch  of  inspiration  is,  therefore,  not  quite 
gone  out.  Throughout  the  continent  it 
flickers  and  falters,  never  shining  with  a 
steady  and  continuous  flame,  rarely  giving  the 
wayfarer  a  light  to  guide  him,  but  every  now 
and  then  dancing  with  a  faint,  fleeting,  will- 
of-the-wisp  quality  before  his  astonished  eyes. 

He  sees  a  reflection,  or  he  catches  an 
echc,  and  then  he  is  in  the  dark. 

Of  rhymes  and  storyettes  there  are  any 
number    in    Australia.       The    local    printing 


PSEUDO-LITERARY  93 

presses  shed  them  in  great  profusion.  They 
are  more  numerous  than  leaves  in  Vallambrosa, 
or  than  wattle  blossoms  in  September.  Nor 
is  their  musical  and  poetic  quality  to  be 
despised.  Many  of  them — the  majority  of 
them  —  are  ephemeral  and  worthless ;  but 
taking  them  either  in  the  aggregate,  or  in 
the  unit,  they  represent  a  fairly  high  journal- 
istic standard.  Frequently  can  there  be  dis- 
covered among  them  a  new  image,  a  clever 
piece  of  workmanship,  even  an  original  idea. 
Their  metrical  quality  is  often  admirable.  In 
the  Melbourne  Argus  there  have  been  many 
good  verses — verses  so  good  that  one  regrets 
they  should  have  been  consigned  to  so  perish- 
able a  receptacle  as  a  penny  print.  For 
genuine  melody,  of  something  better  than  a 
topical  sort,  one  would  not  go  further  than  the 
lines  written  to  a  light-footed,  golden-haired, 
pathetically  -  dead,  dancing  girl  —  lines  that 
bring  her  back  among  the  living : — 

When  the  scene  is  lighted  brightly,  and  we 

watch  the  players  nightly, 
The  peasant,  and  the  prince,  and  the  page. 

The   patriotic   note   has  been  struck  often, 
sometimes  clumsily,  and  sometimes  with  good 


94  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

effect.  Mr  Essex  Evans  gives  it  a  local 
application  in  the  rather  formal  verses 
beginning : — 

Awake  I  Arise  !  The  wings  of  Dawn 
Are  beating  at  the  gates  of  Day. 

And  another  Australian  writer  gives  it  an 
Imperial  significance  when  he  says  of  England, 
in  lines  that  have  been  much  praised  and 
incidentally  awarded  a  substantial  monetary 
prize  by  a  London  paper,  that : — 

She  triumphs,  moving  slowly  down  the  years. 

Again,  for  pure  romance  we  have  Daley's 
fantasy,  with  its  very  fine  exordium  : — 

The  bright  lights  fade  out  one  by  one 
And  like  a  peony. 
Drowning  in  wine,  the  crimson  sun 
Sinks  down  in  that  strange  sea. 

For  a  compound  of  sensuousness  and  sadness 
and  lyric  sweetness,  we  have  Von  Kotze's  Island 
Lover  with  its  invocation,  and  its  lament : — 

Oh,  Tuahina,  that  youth's  full  measure- 
Should  pass  away  like  a  summer's  eve ! 
That  just  the  one  gift  that  women  treasure 
Should  be  so  helpless,  so  poor,  and  leave 
A  hint  of  sweetness,  a  taste  of  pleasure 
And — grey-hued  twilight  to  mourn  and  grieve ! 


PSEUDO-LITERARY  95 

These  are  only  a  few  specimens,  somewhat 
above  the  average  as  regards  workmanship 
and  finish,  but  representative  of  what  the 
continent  is  producing  every  day. 

So  far  as  prose  is  concerned,  the  AustraHan 
topical  and  occasional  writer  can  hold  his  head 
up  in  any  company.  If  you  want  a  scene 
described,  if  you  want  an  incident  related,  if 
you  want  the  pith  of  a  situation  dexterously 
extracted,  if  you  want  an  impression  vividly 
conveyed,  if  you  want  to  catch  from  the  paper 
the  spirit  and  atmosphere  of  a  crowd,  of  a 
race-meeting,  of  a  procession,  of  a  play,  of  a 
joke,  of  a  tragedy,  of  a  wedding,  of  a  funeral ; 
if  you  want  any  or  all  of  these  things,  there 
are  a  score  or  two  of  men  in  Australia  who  will 
supply  the  requirement  as  well  as  it  can  be 
supplied  anywhere  in  the  world. 

But  to  say  this  is  not  to  say  there  is  a 
national  literature.  The  term,  it  must  be 
remembered,  means  something  more  than  a 
few  dexterous  verses,  a  few  patches  of  local 
colour,  and  a  few  characters  that  can  be  held 
up  to  admiration  as  "racy  of  the  soil."  That 
last  phrase  hangs  like  a  pall  over  the  continent. 
If  it  were  only  possible  to  forget  that  there  is 


96  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

such  a  thing  as  a  gum-tree  in  Australia  the 
average  quality  of  the  writing — particularly  of 
the  more  ambitious  and  sustained  kind  of 
writing — would  considerably  improve.  If  a 
national  literature  implies  anything,  it  implies 
the  correct  artistic  and  adequate  expression 
of  the  country's  thought  and  action ;  it 
signifies  the  outward  and  visible  form  of  what 
is  real  and  vital  and  permanent  in  the  inner 
and  intellectual  life  of  a  people.  In  other 
words  it  is  alien  to  what  is  merely  topical  and 
incidental.  It  is  not  a  record  of  the 
peculiarities  of  shearers  and  rouseabouts,  or  of 
the  feats  of  jockeys  or  stock-drovers.  America 
would  hardly  be  a  literary  country  if  it  had  to 
rely  exclusively  on  Bret  Harte  and  Mark 
Twain.  England  would  not  be  literary  if  it 
had  only  Mr  Punch  and  Mr  Bernard  Shaw. 
And  Australia,  so  long  as  its  most  characteristic 
and  successful  compositions  deal  with  the 
obvious  peculiarities  of  a  few  local  people, 
cannot  really  be  said  to  have  a  literature 
deserving  of  the  name. 

The  position  of  things  is  curious.  There  is 
on  the  continent  a  population  of  four  million 
people,    possessing    a    complete    net-work    of 


PSEUDO-LITERARY  97 

state  schools,  high  schools,  art  schools, 
academies,  universities,  professorships,  and 
chairs  of  learning  innumerable.  Education  is 
both  free  and  compulsory.  Complete  illiteracy 
is  almost  unknown.  The  ignorance  and 
stolidity  of  the  London  docker,  of  the  Irish 
peasant,  of  the  Russian  serf,  of  the  central 
European  farm  labourer,  have  no  equivalent 
in  Australia.  The  people  of  this  country  are 
facile  and  quick-minded.  They  turn  naturally 
to  pen  and  ink.  The  writer's  ambition  is 
rampant  among  them.  It  is  more  insidious 
and  more  pervading  even  than  stage  fever  or 
cricket  frenzy.  Every  second  dwelling  of  the 
middle  class  is  cumbered  with  unfinished  or 
unpublished  manuscripts.  If  the  son  is  not 
guilty,  it  is  probably  the  daughter,  or  the 
governess,  or  the  parent.  Every  newspaper 
editor,  if  he  felt  disposed,  could  each  day  fill 
his  columns  ten  times  over  with  contributions 
submitted  by  outsiders.  A  Sydney  paper 
offered  last  year  a  hundred  pound  prize  for  a 
serial  story.  The  result  was  a  staggering 
mass  of  manuscript,  weighing  in  the  aggregate 
more  than  half  a  ton,  the  work  of  one  hundred 
and     thirty  -  four     unknown     and    previously 


98  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

unsuspected  authors.  The  same  set  of 
circumstances  repeats  itself  indefinitely.  Most 
Australians  have  ideas  which  seem  to  the 
possessors  original.  They  want  a  vehicle  of 
expression,  and  they  rush  impetuously  to  the 
only  one  provided. 

Yet  the  result  is  not  great,  or  satisfying,  or 
impressive.  And  the  reason  is  that  the  goal 
of  all  this  endeavour — in  so  far  as  it  is  a  serious 
and  sustained  endeavour — is  the  hall-mark  of 
the  English  publisher.  No  one  can  compute 
the  number  of  people  in  Melbourne  and  Sydney, 
to  say  nothing  of  those  in  the  country  towns, 
who  have  either  accomplished,  or  are  at  present 
meditating,  a  descent  on  London  with  an  un- 
published manuscript.  The  objective  of  the 
literary  person  is  always  London.  The 
recognised  fount  of  honour  is  London.  The 
banners  in  the  literary  sky  wave  always  in  the 
vicinity  of  Paternoster  Row  and  of  Leicester 
Square.  Henry  Kendall,  who  knew  what  he 
was  talking  about,  wrote  feelingly  of  things 
that  may  happen  to  "the  man  of  letters  here." 
And  circumstances  have  not  materially  altered 
since  Kendall  had  his  furniture  sold  under 
him,  and  since  he  sat  all  night  on  doorsteps 


PSEUDO-LITERARY  99 

in  a  suburb  of  Melbourne.  While  confident 
enough  in  most  things,  Australians  have  shown 
no  confidence  in  their  own  literary  judgement. 
They  still  look  timidly  and  obediently  towards 
the  other  hemisphere.  If  their  man  of  talent 
can  get  an  English  publisher  to  take  him  up, 
they  smile  with  fatuous  approval.  If  he  cannot, 
they  pity  and  despise  him.  As  a  consequence 
the  Daleys  and  Quinns  and  Lawsons  who 
have  chosen  to  rely,  for  the  most  part,  on 
the  country  of  their  upbringing,  and  who  have 
carried  their  wares,  for  the  most  part,  to  a 
local  market,  have  found  it  hard  to  make 
a  living.  Had  they  been  obliged  to  rely 
exclusively  on  literature  their  living  would 
have  been  a  precarious  one  indeed. 

These  facts  are  so  obvious  that  it  is  un- 
necessary to  dwell  upon  them.  But  a  word  has 
to  be  said  for  the  other  side.  The  Australian 
publisher,  like  the  Australian  manufacturer, 
or  the  Australian  politician,  has  his  interests 
at  home.  It  is  part  of  his  policy,  part  also  of 
his  desire,  to  encourage  the  literature  of  the 
country  in  which  he  lives.  But  he  has  paid 
so  frequently  for  doing  this  that  he  is  now 
extremely  wary.     For  a  local  author  to  tempt 


100  THE    REAL  AUSTRALIA 

him  is  the  hardest  task  in  the   world.     The 
pubHsher's   suspicions,   founded  on  bitter   ex- 
perience,   have    communicated   themselves   in 
some  subtle  fashion  to  the  possible  purchaser, 
and  to  the  country  at  large.     At  the  present 
time   it   would   puzzle    a   psychologist    to   say 
which   has    the   greater   fear   and    distrust   of 
the    other  —  the    Australian    author    of    the 
Australian  publisher,  or  the  Australian  publisher 
of  the  Australian  author.     The  present  writer 
has  seen  men  in  the  witness  box,  and  in  the 
criminal  dock,  and  has   noted  the  guilty  and 
self-accusing  look  on  some  of  their  faces.     But 
for  a  spectacle  of  absolute  doubt  and  misgiving, 
for  a  written  confession  of  wrong  about  to  be 
committed,  for  an   unspoken  avowal  that  the 
act  in  contemplation   is    one   of  the   blackest 
and   meanest  in  the  calendar,   commend   him 
to  the  individual  who,  hailing  from  Australia, 
stands  up  before  an  Australian  publisher  and 
admits  that  he  has   perpetrated  a  manuscript 
with  a  view  to  it  seeing  the  light  of  day. 

The  result  is  what  might  have  been  expected. 
The  people  are  going  through  a  transition 
stage,  a  transition  stage  which,  to  use  a  mild 
paradox,     threatens     to     become     permanent. 


PSEUDO-LITERARY  lot 

They  are  quick  to  appreciate  cleverness,  and, 
as  readily  as  any  other,  that  form  of  it  which 
finds  expression  in  print.     But  they  want  to 
know  where  they  are.     They  dislike  risks,  and 
more  especially  intellectual  risks.     Before  they 
begin  the  task  of  assimilating  a  work  of  any 
length  they  desire  the  assurance  of  some  one 
in  authority  that  the  labour  is  not  to   be   in 
vain.     They  want  the  imprimatur  of  an  English 
critic,  or  of  an  English  public.    They  appreciate 
good  writing,  and  many  of  them  know  how  to 
write,  but  the  confidence  which  is  a  mark  of 
most   of  their   pursuits,    of  their   virtues   and 
their   vices,  deserts    them    entirely  when  it  is 
a  question  of  estimating  the   worth  of  books 
written  by  their  own  countrymen  in  their  midst. 
Hence  a  result  that  can  be  seen  and  read  of 
all  men.     The  gospel  of  brevity  is  proclaimed 
everywhere.     It  has  become   recognised    that 
the    longer    and    more    ambitious    efforts    of 
imagination    or   of   erudition    have    not   much 
chance   of  emerging   into   the   daylight ;    and 
that   even    if  they   do   emerge,    they   have   a 
still  more  remote  chance  of  paying  expenses, 
much  less  of  winning  a  profit  for  the  ambitious 
author.    The  short  article  may,  however,  prove 


102  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

remunerative.  An  editor  who  would  be 
aggrieved  and  insulted  by  the  very  suggestion 
of  something  three  columns  long  will  put  down 
his  spectacles  and  smile  almost  cheerfully  at 
the  unknown  scribe  who  tenders  him  a  column. 
The  publisher  who  is  firmly  convinced  that  the 
bearer  of  a  full-length  manuscript  novel  is  a 
person  to  be  shunned  like  the  plague,  will 
listen  with  an  open  mind  to  proposals  having 
to  do  with  skits  and  humorous  episodes,  with 
short  stories  and  novelettes. 

From  all  this  can  be  deduced  the  reason 
of  the  spasmodic  quality,  the  flashiness  of  the 
writing  that  is  done  in  Australia.  The  warm 
climate  and  the  tired  feeling  may  have  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  phenomenon ;  but  the 
main  causes  are  those  previously  mentioned. 
It  is  now  apparent  why  the  journalism  of  the 
country  is  one  of  its  more  admirable  features. 
The  newspaper  m.an  has  no  time  to  waste,  and 
no  space  to  give  away.  He  must  get  his 
effects  into  narrow  compass.  He  must,  to 
employ  the  vernacular,  come  at  once  to  the 
points  and  leave  out  the  superfluous  verbiage. 
He  endeavours  to  do  so,  and  often  with  much 
success.      The   publisher   of  books   does   not 


PSEUDO-LITERARY  103 

want  him,  but  if  he  wishes  to  be  original  he  can 
be  so — to  the  extent  of  a  column.  If  he  wishes 
to  be  humorous  he  can  be  so — to  the  same 
limit.  If  his  vein  is  descriptive  he  has  the  like 
opportunity — which  runs  also  to  the  extent  of 
one  column.  On  the  approaches  to  every  print- 
ing machine  in  the  country,  the  word  "  Brevity  " 
is  blazened  in  letters  of  dread  significance. 
The  Duke  of  Wellington's  admonition  to  his 
chaplain  "  Be  brief"  rings  sharply  through  the 
pseudo-literary  atmosphere  of  Australia. 

It  would  savour  of  affectation  to  ignore 
the  existence  of  the  Sydney  Bulletin,  or  to 
attempt  to  deny  that  it  is  an  important  semi- 
intellectual  factor  in  the  life  of  the  continent. 
The  circumstance  is  unfortunate,  and  that  for 
obvious  reasons.  The  Bulletin  combines  in 
itself  most  of  what  is  smart,  and  flashy,  and 
cynical,  and  superficial,  and  verbally  witty  in 
the  people  among  whom  it  circulates.  Now, 
if  a  man  happens  to  be  very  smart  and  very 
witty,  and  very  cynical,  we  may  admit  that 
he  is  a  clever  and  interesting  person.  We 
may  hand  him  the  laurel  wreath  of  con- 
temporary fame  and  journalistic  renown  with 
no  other  feeling  than  one  of  pure  appreciation 


104  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

and  good-will.     But  when  his  smartness  and 
his    flashiness    and    his    cynicism   are    set    up 
as  models  for  every  one  else  to   copy ;   when 
they   are    watered    down   among    a    thousand 
imitators  and  served  up  every  week  with  slight 
variations,  or  with  no  variations  at  all ;  when 
we  find  half  the  educated  people  of  a  country 
trying  to   be  smart  and   flashy,  because  they 
imagine  that  by  so   doing  they   will   be  able 
to  fit  their  ideas   into  the  narrow  columns  of 
a  certain    publication — then  we  are  bound    to 
wonder  whether  we  in  Australia  are  really  an 
intelligent,  right-thinking  nation,  or  a  number 
of  animated  and  extremely  foolish  marionettes. 
It  is  the  readers  of  the  paper,  rather  than 
the  paper  itself,  who  are  to  blame.     The  sins 
of  the  copyists  must  rest  on  their  own  heads. 
And  while  we  get  tired  of  certain    character- 
istics   that   are   always    repeating    themselves, 
we  are  bound  to   admit  the  invaluable  work 
that  the  Sydney  paper  has  done  in  more  than 
one  direction.     By  encouraging  certain  writers 
— by  gaining  for  them  an  audience  and  winning 
for   them   a   reputation  —  it   has   conferred   a 
favour   on  the  whole  of  Australia.     It  is  the 
kind   of  favour  that  can   hardly  be   reckoned 


PSEUDO-LITERARY  105 

out  on  a  monetary  basis.  Nine-tenths  of  that 
which  is  musical  and  distinctive  and  valuable 
in  Australian  verse  of  the  last  twenty  years 
owes  its  publicity,  if  not  its  existence,  to  the 
Bulletin.  To  say  this  is  to  say  a  great  deal. 
It  stands  to  the  lasting  discredit  of  rich 
proprietary  newspapers  of  this  country  that 
they  have  invariably  leaned  towards  the  reprint 
and  the  borrowed  article.  They  have  never 
made  what  could  be  called  a  decisive  stand 
on  behalf  of  the  struggling,  underpaid  man  of 
talent  who  has  taken  off  his  hat  in  their 
managerial  sanctum,  or  has  left  his  wares  on 
their  guarded  doorstep.  They  have  never 
championed  this  man ;  but  the  Btdletin  has 
always  championed  him.  A  paper  that  has 
done  this  can  be  forgiven  much.  It  can  be 
forgiven  the  army  of  cheap  paragraphists,  the 
tawdry  tiresomeness  of  repeated  phrase,  the 
forced  ingenuity  of  distorted  facts,  the  constant 
disparagement  of  the  kindred  nation  over-sea. 

There  is  some  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil 
Would  man  observingly  distil  it  out. 

And  the  truth  of  this  in  the  case  of  the  Bulletin 
we  would  be  the  last  to  impugn. 

Although  it  must  be  repeated  that  there  is 


io6  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

no  such  thing  as  a  national  literature,  there 
are  at  least  three  distinct  schools — perhaps  it 
would  be  more  correct  to  say  distinct  for^ns 
of  writing — in  Australia.  The  first  of  these 
is  what  might  be  called  the  humorous, 
descriptive  style.  This  may  be  a  poor  thing, 
but  it  is  our  own.  Some  kinship  may  be 
claimed  for  it  with  the  method  of  Mark  Twain 
and  his  disciples — the  method,  that  is  to  say, 
of  calm  and  grotesque  exaggeration.  Nor  is 
it  wholly  unconnected  with  the  thunder-and- 
lightning,  vividly  blasphemous  st)  la  of  Rudyard 
Kipling  in  his  earlier  days.  But  it  is  in 
character  and  essence  neither  American  nor 
English ;  it  is  distinctively  Australian.  We 
have  evolved  it,  and  should  take  the  credit 
or  discredit  of  it.  To  be  a  successful  writer 
of  the  descriptively  humorous  kind  it  is 
merely  necessary  to  attend  to  a  few  simple 
rules.  It  is  necessary  to  get  together  as  many 
adjectives  as  you  can,  and  always  to  apply 
them  in  a  context  unlike  that  to  which  they 
have  grown  accustomed.  Thus,  if  you  are 
describing  something  tragic  and  awful — say,  a 
murder — it  is  a  good  plan  to  make  use  of 
such  adjectives  as  commonly  do  duty  for  an 


PSEUDO-LITERARY  107 

artistic  criticism  or  a  musical  performance. 
Conversely,  if  you  are  dealing  with  a  drama, 
or  a  piece  of  music,  it  is  useful  to  have  at 
hand  the  terms  most  frequently  employed  in 
connection  with  a  murder.  Strincr  too^ether 
all  the  unlikely  and  dissimilar  phrases  you 
can  invent  or  remember ;  make  a  liberal  and 
generous  use  of  "and's"  and  "  also's " ;  be 
prodigal  of  semicolons  and  sparing  of  full- 
stops  ;  above  all  cultivate  an  appearance  of 
abruptness  and  of  brevity.  Men  have  been 
known  to  score  a  brilliant  reputation,  and, 
incidentally,  to  get  long  manuscripts  accepted, 
merely  by  leaving  out  the  pronoun  at  the 
beginning  of  a  sentence,  and  thus  giving  an 
air  of  curtness  and  epigrammatic  force  to  their 
composition.  Stick  at  nothing,  spare  nothing, 
be  afraid  of  nothing,  and  your  fame  as  a 
descriptively  humorous  writer  is  assured. 

There  is  another  school,  which  may  be 
called  the  flippant  school.  It  must  not  be 
confused  with  the  one  just  mentioned.  The 
flippant  school  is  mainly  the  preserve  and 
playground  of  women.  The  lady  journalists 
of  Australia  are  as  fond  of  a  varnish  of 
cynicism    on    their   social    writings   as    certain 


io8  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

of  their  sisters  are  of  a  suggestion  of  rouge 
on  their  faces.  The  amusing  part  of  it  is 
that  in  neither  case  does  the  deception  deceive 
any  one.  A  few  years  ago  there  Hved  a 
woman  named  Ina  Wildman,  who  wrote  under 
the  pseudonym  of  Sappho  Smith.  A  gifted 
woman  she  was,  with  a  wonderful  eye  for 
bizarre  effects  and  a  mind  Hke  a  scintillating 
surface  of  light.  She  was  a  conspicuous 
journalistic  success,  and  deserved  to  be.  The 
Sydney  Bulletin  discovered  her,  and  deserves 
the  credit  of  the  discovery.  But  one  penalty 
of  success  is  persistent  imitation.  The  truism 
has  in  her  case  been  proved  up  to  the  hilt. 
It  matters  nothing  to  Sappho  Smith — she  is 
beyond  the  reach  of  that  kind  of  vexation — 
but  it  is  distressing  to  the  patriotic  Australian 
to  find  so  many  of  his  countrywomen  rushing 
pell-mell  into  a  literary  groove  that  can  only 
be  safely  trodden  by  those  possessed  of  quite 
singular  ability  and  quite  exceptional  discern- 
ment. Over  all  of  the  largfer  Melbourne  and 
Sydney  journals  there  is  now  the  trail  of  the 
flippant  woman  writer.  Not  a  line  of  the 
product  rings  true.  Every  word  of  it  is  imita- 
tion.    Whether  it  is  a  wedding,  or  an  engage- 


PSEUDO-LITERARY  109 

ment,  or  an  infant  baptism,  or  a  crush  at 
Government  House,  or  a  Lady  Mayoress's 
reception,  or  an  afternoon  tea-party,  or  a 
display  of  new  millinery,  or  a  theatre,  or  a 
football  match,  the  Sappho  Smiths  of  these 
times  bring  to  bear  the  same  set  of  phrases, 
the  same  slap-dash  methods,  the  same  cynical 
suggestion  of  a  ro2ie  of  seventy  in  a  garden 
of  growing  girls.  This  style  of  composition 
is  specially  remarkable  when  the  topic  is  a 
wedding.  If  the  Australian  woman  expressed 
her  real  thoughts  about  a  wedding  she  would 
speak  of  it  as  the  most  tragic  and  fateful, 
the  most  joyous  and  the  most  serious  event 
on  earth.  But  when  she  gets  a  pen  in  her 
hand  she  finds  it  necessary  to  revel  in  the 
slang  of  two  continents.  For  this  the  example 
of  the  Btdletm  and  of  its  greatest  woman 
contributor  is  mainly  to  blame. 

Then,  in  the  third  place,  we  have  the  erotic 
school.  This  also  has  certain  Australian 
characteristics.  These  manifest  themselves  not 
in  the  prose,  but  in  the  verse  of  the  country. 
The  local  rhymester  has  been  more  than  once 
exhorted  to  give  the  rein  to  his  fancies — to 
let  himself  go.     The  advice  is  not  uncongenial, 


no  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

even  apart  from  the  fact  that  he  has  probably 
been  reading  Swinburne,  and  is  more  or  less 
under  the  influence  of  the  master  mind.  A 
certain  biblical  institution  was  told  that  it  was 
condemned,  because  it  was  luke-warm.  The 
reproach  can  hardly  be  levied  against  the 
youthful  poets  who  fill  unvalued  spaces  of  the 
print  that  is  their  medium  for  the  time  being. 
Amid  all  this  intensity  —  bogus  intensity,  be 
it  understood — there  is  very  seldom  the  note 
of  contentment,  still  less  of  genuine  mirth. 
Australia  is  a  bright,  sunlit,  open,  and  breezy 
country ;  but  the  minor  poets  that  it  produces 
in  abundance  have,  for  the  most  part,  gloom 
dwelling  in  their  inmost  souls.  The  Australian 
child  of  the  Muses  is  willing  enough  to  clasp 
his  Amaryllis  to  his  palpitating  breast,  and 
to  tell  every  one  who  likes  to  listen  about  the 
subtle  and  permeating  sweetness  of  her  eyes 
and  lips  and  hair ;  but  at  the  next  moment, 
or  in  the  very  same  breath,  he  is  inviting  us 
to  contemplate  a  desolated  life,  a  dead  body, 
a  tombstone,  or  a  grave.  In  the  verse  of 
this  people  intense  eroticism  and  profound 
melancholy  are  continually  blended.  The 
Northerner    may,    on    the    average,    be    less 


PSEUDO-LITERARY  1 1 1 

fluent  and  less  Imaginative,  but  he  seems, 
when  at  his  best,  to  develop  a  finer  idealism, 
a  better  thought.  He  writes  in  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette : — 

Lean,  love,  a  little  nearer;  shine,  moon,  a  little  clearer; 
You  cannot  make  her  dearer,  or  a  thousandth  part  more 

fair. 
But  only  you  can  show  me  the  kisses  she  would  throw  me. 
The  guardian  angels  that  shall  go  before  me  everywhere. 

While  his  fellow  rhymester  in  Australia  alter- 
nates between  telling  us  in  a  burst  of  fervour  that 

Hilda's  kisses  seem  in  German 
Just  as  sweet  as  any  way — 

And  most  tragically  exclaiming : — 

God !   the  irony  of  bringing   her   with  garments  wet  and 

clinging 
Close   to   my  feet    that  lagged   for    her   upon    the   sands 

alone — 

The  better  English  journal  can  teach  the 
better  Australian  journal  nothing  in  respect  of 
techniqtie ;  but  there  Is  sometimes  an  artistic 
restraint  about  the  one  which  the  other  might 
copy  without  suffering  any  loss.  It  Is  well, 
however,  to  recognise  the  day  of  small  things, 
looking  to  the  day  when  greater  things  will 


112  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

come  to  pass.  From  Dan  to  Beersheba  every- 
thing is  not  barren  ;  in  fact  there  are  springs 
and  oases  in  cheerful  profusion.  And  it  must 
be  remembered  that  if  AustraHa,  with  all  its 
effervescence  of  youth  and  ambition,  has  not 
yet  found  its  intellectual  footing,  it  is  merely 
exemplifying  a  familiar  stage  in  the  life  of 
man,  which  has  a  counterpart,  and  analogy 
in  the  larger  life  of  a  nation. 


VI 

ADAM    LINDSAY   GORDON 

Life  is  mostly  froth  and  bubble, 
Two  things  stand  like  stone  ; 

Kindness  in  another's  trouble, 
Courage  in  your  own. 

Since  the  finding  of  his  body  on  the  Brighton 
beach  one  morning,  thirty-five  years  ago,  the 
fame  of  Gordon  has  been  steadily  growing. 
He  is  the  acknowledged  Australian  poet ;  but 
what  do  his  countrymen  really  know  about 
him  ?  Considering  all  things,  the  literature  that 
has  to  do  with  him  is  meagre  and  inadequate. 
There  is  the  appreciation  of  Francis  Adams 
— good,  on  the  whole,  but  fragmentary,  and 
too  exclusively  insistent  on  the  merits  of  one 
poem.  There  is  the  life  of  Gordon,  told 
briefly,  with  a  few  strictly  orthodox  comments, 
in  the  book  of  Messrs  Turner  and  Sutherland. 
There  is  also  the  work  of  Mr  Desmond  Byrne 
— correct,  but  formal,  and  consequently  little 
read.  Of  late  years  the  daily  or  weekly 
journalist  has  taken  a  fancy  to  revive  interest 
in  the  poet,  and  to  bring  under  notice  some 
fresh  phase  or  incident  in  his  life.     But  there 

113  H 


114  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

is  yet  a  great  deal  that  could  be  said.  For 
the  present  the  average  Englishman  knows 
nothing  of  Gordon,  and  even  the  well-read 
Englishman  knows  only  the  name  attached 
to  some  galloping  rhymes.  The  Australian 
is  familiar  with  the  name  of  Lindsay  Gordon, 
and  is  not  lacking  in  appreciation,  but  as  often 
as  not  he  reserves  his  praises  for  what  is  least 
admirable  and  least  characteristic. 

To    think    of    Gordon    is    to    think    of    a 
succession  of  pictures  on  an  always  darkening 
screen.     The  opening  vistas  are  rose-coloured  ; 
but    each    successive    glance   at   the    moving 
canvas  leaves  on  the  mental  retina  an  image 
more   gloomy  than   the   one   before  it.     The 
result  of  the  life  itself  was  a  great  tragedy  ; 
the  result  of  the  work  was  a  signal  triumph. 
The  contrast  between  these  two — between  this 
splendid  artistic  success  and  this  dire  personal 
failure — have  helped   to  create  for   Gordon  a 
sympathy  and  affection   out  of  proportion   to 
the  amount,  though   scarcely  out   of  keeping 
with  the  quality  of  his  writing.      He  resembles 
somewhat    the    fleeting    figure    in     Shelley's 
Adonais : — 

A  pard-like  spirit  beautiful  and  wild, 
A  joy  in  desolation  masked. 


ADAM    LINDSAY   GORDON  115 

The  spirit  was  beautiful,  but  the  joy — what 
visitations  there  were  of  it  —  was  always 
hedged  round  with  desolation.  And  the 
tendency  was  always  away  from  the  light, 
instead  of  towards  it ;  the  clouds  were  always 
gathering  as  the  day  went  on. 

Yet  the  series  of  views  thrown  upon  the 
moving  screen  begins  brightly.  On  an  island 
of  the  Azores,  amid  surroundings  which  rest 
the  eye  and  charm  the  sense,  a  child  is  growing 
up  to  manhood.  Listen  to  what  his  father,  a 
retired  army  officer,  says  of  Lindsay  Gordon  : 
— "  A  sweet  little  fellow  he  is !  indeed,  I 
think  him  almost  too  pretty.  Very  slight 
and  upright,  carrying  his  little  curly  head 
well  back,  and  almost  swaggering  along.  He 
talks  with  a  sweet,  full,  laughing  voice,  and  a 
face  dimpled  and  bright  as  the  morning.  He 
is  seen  here,  perhaps,  to  too  great  an  advantage, 
in  very  light  clothing,  scampering  amid  the 
large  and  airy  playrooms."  This  is  the 
opening  picture  of  the  series,  and  there  is  no 
suggestion  of  shadow  about  it.  The  promise 
is  of  a  life  healthful  and  happy,  proof  against 
all  morbid  fancies,  singularly  unfettered, 
mentally  and  physically  free. 


ii6  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

But  the  operator  is  busily  at  work  ;  and  he 
quickly  changes  the  landscape  from  the  Azores 
to  England.  The  next  glimpse  of  Gordon  is 
that  of  a  youth  on  the  deck  of  a  ship  outward 
bound  for  Australia.  The  rose  and  gold  tints 
are  less  noticeable  now,  but  there  is  still  no 
occasion  for  excess  of  sympathy.  There  is 
every  reason  why  the  young  man  of  twenty 
should  find  a  prosperous  career  in  the  new 
and  rapidly  developing  continent.  He  stands 
on  the  deck  of  a  ship  with  the  salt  spray  of 
the  channel  blowing  a  keen  reviving  breath 
upon  his  forehead.  The  light  of  imagination 
is  in  his  eyes.  The  flush  of  expectation  is 
on  his  face.  It  is  not  a  situation  to  merit 
sympathy,  even  though  home  and  England 
are  soon  to  vanish  on  the  sky-line.  Only — 
and  the  shadow  will  assert  itself  a  little  here — 
there  is  a  morbid  tendency,  possibly  associated 
in  some  fashion  with  the  state  of  mind  of  his 
mother,  who  has  developed  a  form  of  religious 
melancholia.  And  Gordon's  mother  and  father 
are  first  cousins.  It  is  a  circumstance  of 
sinister  omen. 

Once  the  life  in  Australia  has  begun,   the 
unseen  hand  that  is  manipulating  the  screen 


ADAM    LINDSAY   GORDON  117 

makes  feverish  haste  to  get  forward.  Two 
years  of  experience  as  a  member  of  the 
South  AustraHan  mounted  police  are  passed 
rapidly  in  review.  There  is  a  following 
period  of  seven  years ;  but  this  also  need 
not  delay  the  onlookers.  It  shows  the  young 
man  of  destiny  carrying  on  business  as  a  pro- 
fessional horse-breaker,  and  incidentally  writing- 
verses.  His  means  are  limited ;  his  social 
advantages  non  -  existent ;  his  opportunities 
of  intellectual  intercourse  and  improvement 
practically  nil.  During  these  first  nine  years 
in  Australia  the  spectre  of  inherited  melancholia, 
though  never  quite  in  the  ascendant,  is  never 
entirely  laid.  Yet  the  life  must  have  had  its 
compensations.  The  recollection  of  many  a 
lonely  ride,  of  many  a  starry  midnight,  of 
many  a  breaking  sunrise,  of  many  a  drifting 
fancy,  wild  and  subtle  as  the  music  of  the 
Spectre  Bride,  are  conveyed  in  the  spirit  rather 
than  in  the  words  of  verses  that  Gordon  wrote 
at  this  period  of  his  life. 

Then,  for  a  brief  space,  there  are  indica- 
tions of  a  turn  of  the  tide.  Fortune  ceases 
to  frown.  It  seems  desirous  all  at  once  of 
petting  Gordon,    of  consoling  him,   of  giving 


ii8  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

him  fresh  chances,  of  making  up  to  him  what 
nature  and  heredity  had  taken  away.  It  flings 
into  his  lap  a  legacy  of  ^7,000 ;  it  makes  him 
a  member  of  the  Legislature  of  his  colony  ; 
it  wins  him  success  and  fame  as  a  cross-country 
rider,  as  a  master  of  that  daring  game  which 
can  always  be  relied  upon  to  draw  the  wildest 
plaudits  from  the  crowd.  But  even  this 
mood,  this  smiling,  flattering,  relenting  mood, 
does  not  avail.  And  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it 
does  not  last.  The  legacy  is  lost  in  specula- 
tion ;  the  Parliamentary  career  is  abandoned  ; 
the  steeplechase  successes  are  punctuated 
with  accident  and  failure.  The  sands  begin 
to  run  downward  faster  than  before. 

There  is  just  one  picture,  in  the  dissolving 
series,  on  which  it  is  sometimes  tempting  to 
linger.  Gordon  is  by  this  time  thirty-seven 
years  old.  He  is  without  robust  health, 
without  money,  and  without  regular  employ- 
ment. It  is  quite  true  that  he  can  write 
verses ;  he  is  not  altogether  confident  about 
them,  but  he  believes  they  are  good  verses. 
One  or  two  people  who  ought  to  know  have 
praised  them.  But  these  Melbourne  publishers 
will   pay  nothing    for   them  ;    no    doubt,    the 


ADAM    LINDSAY   GORDON  119 

author  admits,  because  they  would  lose  money 
if  they  did.  What  is  a  man  to  do  whose 
health  is  shaky,  and  who  has  nothing  but 
unpaid  bills  and  unpublished  verses  in  his 
pocket?  He  dare  not  dwell  on  the  prospect; 
it  must  at  all  cost  be  forgotten,  pressed  back, 
kept  out  of  sight. 

There  is  one  man  who  will  help  him  to 
forget,  and  that  man  is  Henry  Clarence 
Kendall.  The  two  meet  in  Collins  Street, 
Melbourne,  on  the  last  morning  but  one  of 
Gordon's  life.  It  is  a  meeting  pleasant  to 
think  about,  pleasant  to  dwell  upon.  For 
Kendall  at  least  appreciates,  and  Kendall 
understands.  That  appreciation  is  warmly, 
generously,  enthusiastically  expressed,  and  it 
must  convey  a  great  deal  to  Lindsay  Gordon, 
though  he  is  to  die  by  his  own  hand  next 
day.  For  to  the  true  poet  the  clamorous 
praise  of  the  crowd  means  very  little.  If 
there  is  any  elysium  for  him  on  earth,  it  is 
found  in  the  recognition  of  the  few  whose 
knowledge  and  perceptions  are  not  of  the 
earth,  earthy.  Perhaps  for  an  hour  or  two 
while  he  talked  with  Kendall  in  the  Melbourne 
hotel,  and  drank  with  him  the  drink,  both  of 


I20  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

the  successful  and  the  despairing,  perhaps  for 
a  moment  he  had  an  inkling  of  the  truth  that 
he  had  not  Hved  altogether  in  vain. 

It  is  never  easy  to  estimate  a  man's  place 
in  the  domain  of  poetry.  It  is  practically 
impossible  in  his  lifetime,  and  it  is  difficult 
after  he  is  dead.  There  is  not  merely  the 
metrical,  formal  quality,  not  merely  the 
imaginative  power,  not  merely  the  originality 
of  treatment  that  have  to  be  considered. 
The  whole  question  of  individual  taste  and 
temperament,  whether  of  the  writer  or  the 
reader,  is  at  work  upon  the  scales.  It  may 
be  impossible  to  prove  on  mathematical  lines 
that  Gordon  was  a  great  poet.  Yet  it  can  be 
asserted  confidently  that  his  verse  is  marked 
by  three  qualities  which  between  them  go  a 
long  way  to  make  up  greatness.  These  are 
its  spontaneity,  its  musical  quality,  and  its 
refinement.  Everything  else  is  included 
under  one  or  other  of  these  three  heads. 

To  take  the  first  of  the  three — spontaneity, 
Gordon  was  above  all  thinors  a  natural  singer. 
This  naturalness,  this  unforced  quality,  is 
undoubtedly  his  first  and  his  finest  merit. 
He   hoped    for  nothing — at  least  for  nothing 


ADAM   LINDSAY   GORDON  121 

tangible — from  his  verses.     In   one  sense,  he 
did  not  wish  to  write.       He  much   preferred 
action.      If  some  one  had  given  him  a  troop 
of    cavalry    and    shown     him     a     battery    of 
opposing  artillery,  he  would,  in  the  rush  and 
forgetfulness    of    one    wild,    sweeping    move- 
ment, have  experienced   more  real  life,  more 
real   pleasure,   than  he   was   ever  destined   to 
know.      Such  an  experience  might  have  laid 
once    and    for    ever   the   ghosts    that    always 
haunted  him  ;  might  have  made  him  feel  that 
he  was  born  to  act,  as  his  soldier-fathers  had 
acted,  instead  of  being  obliged  to  sit  down  in 
a  strange  land  and  listen  to  memories  of  action 
that  sang  fitfully  through  his  brain.     It  is  for 
this  reason — for  the  reason  that  temperament, 
and  heredity,  and  poetic  impulse   forced   him 
to  find  relief  in  verse  whether  he  wished  to  or 
not,  whether  he  was  proud  of  the  performance 
or  ashamed  of  it — that  he  occupies  his  unique 
place.    The  pen  and  ink  processes  are  invisible 
in  his  best  work ;  it  is  as  though 

A  wistful,  wandering  zephyr  presses 
The  strings  of  some  ^oHan  lyre. 

To  illustrate  the  spontaneous  manner  of 
Gordon  would  be  to  run  through  a  complete 
list  of  his  published  poems.     There  is  no  need 


122  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

to  go  much  further  than  the  opening  lines  of 
The  Rhyme  of  Joyous  Garde.  It  is  instructive 
to  notice  how  in  this,  as  in  others  of  his  poems, 
the  picture  seems  to  create  itself  :^ — 

Through  the  lattice  rushes  the  south  wind,  dense 
With  fumes  of  the  flowery  frankincense 
And  hawthorn  blossoming  thickly. 

No  preparations,  no  apologies,  no  pre- 
liminary turning  and  scraping ;  only  the  rush 
of  a  few  lines  which  sweep  the  reader,  whether 
he  likes  it  or  not,  into  the  enchanted  world  of 
dreams.  Equally  natural,  and  quite  as  resist- 
less, is  the  sentiment  of  Podas  Okits.  Here 
again  we  feel,  so  to  speak,  the  pulse-beat  of 
the  inevitable  ;  we  get  again  the  impression  that 
Gordon  could  not  help  the  writing;  that  he 
himself,  and  not  the  Greek,  is  lying  at  a  tent's 
entrance ;  that  for  him  the  hues  of  sunset 
are  blending  with  the  brief  glories  of  an  almost 
vanished  life ;  that  it  is  he,  and  not  Achilles, 
who  murmurs  to  the  golden-haired  Briseis : — 

Place  your  hand  in  mine,  and  listen, 
While  the  strong  soul  cleaves  its  way 
Through  the  death  mist  hovering  o'er  me, 
As  the  strong  ship  cleaves  the  wave, 
To  my  fathers  gone  before  me. 
To  the  gods  who  love  the  brave. 


ADAM   LINDSAY   GORDON  123 

The  musical  quality  of  Gordon  is  a  kindred 
though  a  distinct  merit.  A  poet  may  be 
natural  and  spontaneous  without  being  par- 
ticularly musical,  just  as  he  may  achieve  a 
musical  result  by  what  are  manifestly  artificial 
means.  A  lyric  poet  must,  however,  aim  at 
musical  effect.  If  he  fails  to  attain  this,  he  is 
not  what  he  professes  to  be.  Does  the  reader 
receive  an  impression  of  melody  ?  Does  it 
please  him  ?  Does  he  carry  it  away  with  him  ? 
These  are  some  of  the  questions  by  which  the 
writer  of  verses  must  always  be  judged.  The 
novelty,  or  even  the  abstract  merit  of  the  idea 
does  not  matter  so  much.  Occasionally,  as  in 
Swinburne's  Triwnph  of  Time,  there  are  to 
be  found  some  striking  ideas  wedded  to  lines 
that  are  musically  splendid.  Occasionally,  as 
in  the  same  author's  Ballad  of  Dreajnland, 
there  is  delicate  and  subtle  harmony,  associated 
only  with  the  faint  flicker  of  an  idea.  The 
school  of  self-styled  poets  founded  by  Euphues 
made  the  cardinal  mistake  of  supposing  that 
the  form  of  expression  mattered  little ;  that 
their  chief  business  was  to  get  hold  of  fresh 
fancies,  and  previously  unheard-of  conceits. 
We   know   better   than   that  nowadays.     We 


124  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

can  put  up  with  the  old  idea  if  the  treatment 
is  artistic  enough  and  musical  enough.  In 
lyric  poetry  the  new  or  the  startling  idea 
creates  a  kind  of  metaphysical  check,  and  is  not 
really  wanted.  In  Gordon  there  is  enough  of 
the  familiar,  enough  of  the  sentimental  idea  to 
satisfy  every-day  requirements,  while  there  is 
musical  quality  enough  to  proclaim  the  genuine 
lyric  poet.  The  man  had  a  sensitive  ear.  It 
is  rarely  that  he  strikes  discordant  notes.  His 
versification  is  not  flawless  ;  it  is  not  always 
of  the  quality  of  The  Swimmer'  or  of  the 
Autumn  Song,  but  in  reading  him  one  feels 
that  Australia  has  produced  a  poet  in  whom 
there  dwelt  the  rare  faculty  of  music,  the 
o-enuine  g-ift  of  melodic  form. 

The  third  distinguishing  attribute  of  Gordon 
is  his  refinement.  This  is  a  word  that  has 
come  to  require  explanation.  It  has  some 
rather  unfortunate  associations.  A  young 
ladies'  academy  is  nothing  if  not  refined. 
Bunthorne,  in  Patience  is  extremely  refined. 
The  heroes  of  Richardson  and  of  Miss  Burney 
are  refinement  itself.  When  the  term  is 
applied  to  a  man  or  an  author  in  these  days, 
it  is  necessary  to  be  explicit  in  order  to  avoid 


ADAM   LINDSAY   GORDON  125 

misunderstanding.  One  of  the  merits  of 
Gordon,  and  one  that  must  tend  to  make  the 
memory  of  the  man  loved,  even  more  than  his 
poetry  is  admired,  is  the  habit  of  thought 
which  reflects  a  fine  and  clear  and  elevated 
temperament;  a  temperament,  that  does  not 
lend  itself  to  vice  ;  a  temperament,  in  other 
words,  that  is  refined.  To  say  that  Gordon 
was  so  constituted  is  not  to  say  that  he  lacked 
emotional  strength  or  force.  He  had  abund- 
ance of  either.  He  had  also  passion,  though 
it  was  a  passion  that  ran  to  self-restraint,  to 
fatalism,  and  to  sombre  thought.  It  never 
brought  him  to  realism,  or  even  to  the  verge 
of  it.  When  he  follows  a  certain  impulse  and 
writes  : — 

From  a  long  way  off  to  look  at  your  charms 
Made  my  blood  run  redder  in  every  vein, 
While  he — he  has  held  you  long  in  his  arms, 
And  kissed  you  over  and  over  again — 

he  is  going  as  far  as  his  finer  nature  will  let 
him  go  in  the  painting  of  pictures  dear  to  the 
fleshly  school.  It  is  almost  incredible  that  a 
lyric  poet  who  had  come  under  the  influence 
of  Shelley  and  Swinburne  should  go  no  further 


126  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

than  this.  But  Gordon's  verses  are  not  Hke  most 
other  love  verses — they  show  no  indulgence  in 
that  more  blatant  form  of  sensualism  which  v/ill 
insist  on  its  red  lips  and  its  soft  arms,  on  its 
tropic  midnights  and  its  reiterated  embraces. 
It  is  only  "from  a  long  way  off"  that  he  looks 
upon  the  vision  splendid  ;  he  never  vulgarises 
it  by  coming  too  near  it ;  in  the  better  and 
more  enduring  sense  of  the  word,  he  is 
refined. 

To  understand  Gordon  it  is  necessary  to 
remember  that  his  was  a  dual  personality. 
First  of  all  he  was  a  man  of  action.  He 
wrote  as  a  man  who  loved  action,  for  other 
men  who  loved  action.  There  was  enough 
of  the  soldier  about  him,  enough  of  ingrained 
modesty,  or  of  patrician  reserve,  to  make 
him  rather  ashamed  of  a  parade  of  his  own 
feelings.  It  was  very  much  finer,  to  his 
way  of  thinking,  to  do  something  than 
merely  to  write  about  something.  He  lived 
much  on  horseback  and  rode  in  many  races, 
because  the  speed  of  a  steeplechase  could 
persuade  him  for  a  moment  that  he  was 
acting ;  could  make  him  forget  the  piping 
times    in    which   he   lived.      But   while  all   his 


ADAM   LINDSAY   GORDON  127 

sympathy  and  all  his  desires  were  towards 
action,  his  temperament  was  largely  that  of 
the  dreamer.  It  is  a  rare  combination,  and 
one  that  explains  a  great  deal.  When  he 
put  his  dreams  into  words — when  he  set  his 
fancy  free  in  such  compositions  as  Doubtful 
Dreams,  Cut  Bono,  A  Song  of  Autumn,  and 
others  of  the  kind,  it  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  he  was  doing  anything  remarkable.  It 
did  not  seem  to  him  that  fame  was  to  be  won 
in  that  way.  It  did  not  appeal  to  him  that  this 
class  of  work  might  call  forth  rarer  qualities, 
might  establish  a  better  claim  to  gratitude  and 
remembrance,  than  could  the  actions  of  the 
man  who  went  with  a  tomahawk  into  the 
wilderness,  or  of  the  man  who  led  a  forlorn 
hope  right  up  to  the  cannon's  mouth.  He 
wrote  not  so  much  to  please  others  as  to 
please  himself,  and  because  he  was  unable  to 
be  always  silent.  He  wrote  because  voices 
that  sang  through  him  would  not  remain 
dumb. 

There  are  three  classes  into  which  his  poetry 
can  be  divided.  The  first  and  the  largest  class 
is  that  in  which  the  man  of  action  preponderates. 


128  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

These   are    the    verses    that    tell   of  deeds  of 
daring,   most  of  them  accomplished  on  horse- 
back.    The  lines  have  about  them  the  genuine 
ring  of  saddle   and  sabre.     The  air  seems  to 
be  rushing  past  as  one  reads  them.     Almost 
the  whole  of  what  praise   or  credit  came  to 
Gordon   in   his  lifetime   was  due  to    what   he 
wrote  about  men   on    horseback.     Even    now 
he    is    known    to    the    great    majority    of    his 
countrymen  by  such    verses  as  How   we   beat 
the   Favourite,    The   Roll  of  the  Kettledrum, 
From   the    Wreck,    and   others    of    the    kind. 
Poetry    of    this    description    may   not    be    the 
highest  possible,  but  Gordon  did  it  very  well. 
He   did    it    so    well    that  he  may  be  said  to 
have  beaten  all  competitors  in  this  particular 
line — and    that    despite    his    uneven    quality, 
and   his   occasional  lapses    into   the    inartistic 
and    the    commonplace.     His   friend    Kendall 
raised  an  incredulous  smile  by  writing  in  the 
Azistralasian  that  the  shy  and  reserved  man 
who    said    so    little    and    rode    so    well    was 
superior    to    Whyte    Melville    in    the    latter's 
special  domain.     It  was  thought   then  that  a 
compliment    had    been    paid    to    Gordon ;    it 


ADAM   LINDSAY   GORDON  129 

would  be  considered  now  that  the  compli- 
ment was  wholly  to  Whyte  Melville.  The 
Australian  has  out  -  distanced  most  of  his 
rivals ;  but  he  did  not  know  of  the  fact  in 
his  lifetime,  and  on  the  banks  of  the  Styx 
he  may  not  much  care. 

Of  all  these  poems  of  action  there  is  none 
better,  perhaps  none  quite  so  fine  as  regards 
conception  and  execution,  as  the  Romaftce 
of  Britomarte.  It  is  a  remarkable  piece  of 
work.  The  artistic  finish  of  it  does  not  strike 
the  reader  while  he  is  reading.  To  watch  a 
really  fine  actor  is  to  forget  he  is  acting ;  to 
listen  to  a  tale  that  is  properly  told  is  to 
forget  the  teller.  It  is  rarely,  indeed,  that 
the  mechanical  processes  do  not  obtrude  them- 
selves. Of  genius  there  has  never  yet  been 
a  satisfactory  definition ;  but  the  word  may 
surely  be  reserved  for  the  man  or  woman 
who  can  write  a  book,  or  act  a  piece,  or 
compose  a  poem,  of  such  quality  that  the 
reader  or  onlooker  will  forget  for  the  moment 
everything  but  that  which  is  placed  before 
him.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  begin  reading 
Britomarte  and    to   put   it   down    unfinished, 


130  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

or  to  be  conscious  of  anything  but  the  dramatic 
interest  of  the  story.  The  verve  and  swing  of 
the  opening  lines 

I'll  tell  you  a  story — but  pass  the  jack, 
And  let  us  make  merry  to-night,  my  men — 

carry  the  reader  on  a  rushing  wave  from 
beginning  to  close.  It  is  a  tale  of  great  and 
successful  daring,  purporting  to  be  told  by  the 
chief  actor  himself;  but  no  crudeness,  or  bad 
taste,  or  braggadocio  mars  the  effect.  Think- 
ing of  such  a  piece  one  forgets  to  be  sorry 
for  the  author.  Irrespective  of  fame,  or  the 
lack  of  fame,  he  must  have  known  that  the 
work  was  good ;  he  must  have  known  that 
criticism  could  neither  help  it,  nor  harm  it ;  he 
must  have  experienced  the  joy  of  creation, 
which  comes  only  to  certain  natures,  and  not 
often  to  them. 

On  the  second  class  of  his  poetry,  which 
may  be  described  as  fatalism  set  to  music, 
opinions  are  likely  to  differ  widely.  The 
majority  of  people  prefer  How  we  Beat  the 
Favourite  to  Doubtful  Dreams,  but  then  the 
majority  of  people  have  from  time  immemorial 


ADAM   LINDSAY   GORDON  131 

been  the  worst  judges  of  poetry.  These 
verses  that  belong  to  the  second  class — the 
class  not  of  action,  but  of  brooding  fancy 
— are  well  represented  by  the  piece  entitled 
The  Swimmer.  All  the  philosophy  in  them 
is  contained  in   the  four  lines  : — 

A  little  season  of  light  and  laughter, 
Of  love  and  leisure,  and  pleasure  and  pain, 
And  a  horror  of  outer  darkness  after. 
And  dust  returneth  to  dust  again. 

All  the  music  of  them  is  exemplified  in  the 
same  piece,  for  example  in  the  lines  com- 
mencing : — 

I  would  that  with  sleepy,  soft  embraces 
The  sea  would  fold  me,  would  find  me  rest 
In  luminous  depths  of  her  secret  places 
In  gulfs  where  her  marvels  are  manifest. 

They  are  melancholy  and  mystic,  and  not 
hopefully  inspiring,  these  verses  in  which  the 
writer  seeks  to  link  the  unsatisfactory  present 
with  the  unknown  beyond.  Yet  they  have  a 
sweetness  of  their  own.  The  strings  that 
throbbed  in  Gordon  to  the  touch  of  his  mother, 
the  Night,  have,  indeed,  a  siren  quality,  akin 


132  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

to  the  lute  of  Orpheus  when  heard  on  the  eve 
of  everlasting  sleep  in  the  garden  of  Prosperine. 
Preferable  sometimes  to  the  utterance  of  a 
noisy  and  blatant  optimism — finer  than  the 
blare  of  brass  instruments  or  the  shouting  of 
crowds — is  the  voice  of  the  reed  shaken  by 
the  wind. 

As  a  final  word  something  may  be  said  of 
Gordon's  third  and  highest  class  of  achieve- 
ment, namely  his  blending  in  verse  of  the 
active  with  the  melancholic  temper.  He  could 
do  two  things  :  he  could  write  of  action,  and 
he  could  write  of  sadness.  Now  and  again 
he  combines  in  one  poem  all  that  is  best  and 
most  distinctive  in  these  two  sides  of  his  nature. 
There  are  times  when  he  devotes  his  verse 
to  enterprises  of  some  kind,  to  feats  on  horse- 
back, or  to  feats  in  war.  There  are  other 
times  when  he  discards  action,  and  lets  the 
sombre  mood  of  the  moment  envelop  him. 
The  hour  of  his  greatest  and  rarest  inspiration 
is  when  he  mixes  the  action  with  the  senti- 
ment ;  when  he  unites  the  warrior  with  the 
poet ;  when  he  fuses  in  the  same  fire  the 
contrasted   (but   not    necessarily   antagonistic) 


Adam  Lindsay  cordon       133 

temperaments  of  a  Bayard  and  a  Byron,  of  a 
Lancelot  and  a  Lamartine. 

It  is  undeniable  that  The  Rhyme  of 
Joyous  Garde  represents  the  summit  of 
Gordon's  poetic  achievement.  And  the 
reason  is  that  it  brings  together  in  complete 
harmony  the  two  spirits  which  alternately 
strove  for  mastery  in  the  life  of  the  man. 
The  movements  in  The  Rhyme  of  Joyous 
Garde  are  varied,  but  they  fit  into  each 
other,  and  grow  out  of  each  other,  as  do  the 
movements  in  a  Beethoven  symphony.  First 
of  all  there  is  the  atmosphere  of  pure 
idealism,  of  pure  romance.  There  is  the 
breath  of  the  south  wind,  rich  with  the  glory 
of  the  hawthorn  and  the  frankincense.  It  is 
the  man  of  action,  who  is  also  a  poet,  that  is 
speaking.  The  setting  is  that  of  Arthurian 
England.  Every  line  of  the  opening  verse 
is  flooded  with  the  sentiment  of  a  romantic 
country — a  country  in  which  brave  men  lived, 
and  in  which  great  deeds  were  done. 

Against  this  rich,  warm-tinted  background 
is  outlined  a  battle  picture.  Here  begins  the 
second  movement.  First  the  country  itself, 
with  its  sunny  fields  and  blossoming  hedges ; 


134  THE  REAL  AUSTRALIA 

then    the   memory  springing   to  Hfe  of   great 
daring  and  heroic  achievement : — 

Pardie  !     I  nearly  had  won  that  crown 
Which  endureth  more  than  a  knight's  renown, 
When  the  pagan  giant  had  got  me  down, 
Sore  spent  in  the  deadly  grapple. 

In  a  couple  of  resonant  verses  he  explains 
why.  The  third  movement  begins  when  the 
woman  enters.  It  is  romance  again,  but 
romance  of  a  more  intense,  more  personal, 
more  richly  emotional  kind.  It  forms  the 
dominant  note  of  this  varied  theme  : — 

The  brown  thrush  sang  through  the  briar  and  bower, 

All  flushed  or  frosted  with  forest  flower, 

In  the  warm  sun's  wanton  glances  ; 

And  I  grew  deaf  to  the  song-bird — blind 

To  blossom  that  sweetened  the  sweet  spring  wind, 

I  saw  her  only — a  girl  reclined 

In  her  girlhood's  indolent  trances. 

The  realism  of  the  picture  is  carried  no 
further.  With  fine  artistic  sensibility  Gordon 
recognises  that  he  has  said  enough.  The 
woman  has  entered ;  the  man  has  grown 
blind  to  the  blossom  and  deaf  to  the  song- 
bird ;  the  eternal  tragedy,  which  is  not 
altogether  a  tragedy,  has  begun. 

For   the    rest,    the    poem    plays    upon    two 


ADAM   LINDSAY  GORDON  135 

strings.  Alternately  there  are  echoes  from 
the  fields  of  undying  renown,  and  again 
voices  of  sad  and  hopeless  and  unending 
regret.     The  well-known  lines  beginning : — 

Then  a  steel-shod  rush,  and  a  ghttering  ring, 
And  a  crash  of  the  spear  staves  splintering 

are  a  memorable  piece  of  versification.  They 
arrest  and  perpetuate  the  fighting  Arthurian 
spirit,  they  convey  in  words  the  actual  clash 
of  arms,  and  they  bring  back  the  forgotten 
mood  of  the  man  of  personal  valour  as 
possibly  no  other  verses  have  yet  done. 
Such  a  word  picture  might  be  expected  to 
leave  weak  and  tame  anything  that  followed  ; 
but  with  equal  conviction,  and  with  equal 
command  of  tone  and  touch,  Gordon  strikes 
again  the  chord  of  intense  spiritual  shame 
and  sorrow,  gradually  merging  it  into  one  of 
religious  appeal  and  exhortation.  On  this 
latter  note  the  poem  closes. 

The  man  who  had  done  this  great  thing 
surely  deserved  something  in  this  existence, 
or  in  some  other  existence,  in  return  for  what 
he  had  given  to  the  people  among  whom  he 
lived.     Surely,  one  likes  to  think,  there  must 


136  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

be,  somewhere,  at  some  time  or  another,  a 
compensation,  a  recompense,  for  the  tragedy 
of  a  life  that  merited  so  much  success  and 
vanished,  or  seemed  to  vanish,  in  such  utter 
dark. 


VII 

THEATRES  AND  AMUSEMENTS 

Then  to  the  well-trod  stage  anon, 
If  Jonson's  learned  sock  be  on, 
Or  sweetest  Shakespeare,  fancy's  child, 
Warble  his  native  wood-notes  wild. 

Australians  are  fond  of  the  drama,  but  have 
no  drama  of  their  own.  Even  those  people 
who  talk  occasionally  of  an  Australian 
literature  have  nothing  to  say  on  the  subject 
of  an  Australian  stage.  Not  only  the  master- 
pieces, but  the  hack-pieces  are  borrowed ;  the 
star  actors  and  actresses  are  borrowed  also. 
In  nothing  is  the  population  more  imitative 
than  in  what  pertains  to  theatres  and  theatre- 
going.  It  is  only  the  buildings  that  can  be 
described  as  the  countrv's  own,  and  even  here 
the  great  borrowing  habit  is  illustrated  by  the 
names  that  are  blazoned  on  the  outside  of 
them.  '•  His  Majesty's,"  and  •'  Her  Majesty's," 
and  "  The  Princess,"  and  "  The  Royal  "  repeat 
themselves   with   monotonous   iteration.     The 

137 


13^  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

appearance  of  the  majority  of  these  theatres 
is  fine  and  large,  in  the  literal  acceptation  of 
the  words.  There  are  not  many  things  that 
impress  the  visitor  more  than  the  size  and  the 
configuration  and  artistic  finish  of  the  places 
of  amusement  in  Australia. 

So  far  as  the  audiences  are  concerned,  they 
are  in  a  transition  stage — the  stage  of  develop- 
ment between  being  delighted  with  everything 
and  being  satisfied  with  nothing.  It  is  still 
comparatively  easy  to  attract  a  crowd  to  a 
performance  that  can  boast  of  novel  features, 
or  of  moderately  good  credentials  from  abroad. 
In  fact,  the  Australian  is  willing,  at  the  out- 
set, to  take  a  great  deal  on  trust,  even  though 
he  is  quick  to  resent  what  looks  like  an 
imposition  on  his  good  nature.  An  indifferent 
company  may  have  one  successful  tour  of  the 
continent,  but  it  will  scarcely  have  a  second. 
It  is  the  failure  to  recognise  this  fact  that 
causes  stranded  actors  to  be  plentiful  as 
blackberries.  The  local  theatre-goer  is  good- 
natured  up  to  a  certain  point ;  beyond  that 
point,  it  is  impossible  to  move  him. 

Speaking  generally,  the  country  is  not  kind 
to    its   own    theatrical    children.      The   actor, 


THEATRES  AND   AMUSEMENTS    139 

like  the  prophet,  has  to  look  for  his  honours 
abroad.  His  fellow-countrymen  find  a  difficulty 
in  recognising  him,  or  at  least  in  approving 
him,  until  he  has  broken  in  upon  them  from 
over-seas.  The  stage  in  Australia  is  looked 
at,  not  through  opera-glasses,  but  through  a 
telescope ;  the  thing  near  at  hand  is  not 
clarified,  but  distorted.  The  man  of  purely 
local  experience  is  in  no  danger  of  being 
spoilt  by  adulation.  However  tolerated  or 
even  admired  he  may  have  been,  he  is  ex- 
pected to  seek  the  shades  of  a  graceful 
retirement  the  moment  that  Brown,  of  Jones's 
English  theatre,  is  announced.  There  is  not  an 
Australian-born  actor  or  actress  who  could  not 
testify  to  this  fact ;  many  of  them  resent  it,  but 
others  have  come  to  accept  it  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

It  is  true,  that  there  are  among  the  four 
million  people  who  inhabit  Australia,  a  certain 
number  possessed  of  discernment.  In  the 
exercise  of  this  faculty  they  now  and  again 
perceive  that  an  individual  playing  a  com- 
paratively small  part  is  endowed  with  special 
ability.  Then,  if  they  are  sufficiently  interested, 
they  may  take  steps  to  secure  his  acquaintance; 


140  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

or  disdaining  this  formality,  they  may  button- 
hole him,  remark  that  they  have  been  impressed 
by  his  performances,  and  invite  him  to  discuss 
the  situation  over  a  glass  of  wine.  An  invita- 
tion of  this  kind  is  seldom  refused.  The 
supporters  of  local  talent  remark  to  the 
Thespian  that  he  is  being  wasted  in  Australia ; 
that  there  is  no  scope  for  him  in  Australia ; 
that  he  really  ought  to  remove  himself  from 
Australia  at  the  first  opportunity.  It  is  then 
discovered  that  this  is  the  advice  his  friends  and 
relatives  have  been  tendering  him  for  months 
past.  If  he  declines  to  go,  or  suggests  that  his 
own  country  is  quite  good  enough  for  him,  he 
is  set  down  as  a  man  of  no  ambition,  and 
probably  of  very  little  soul.  More  often  than 
not,  he  is  persuaded  to  go.  The  favourable 
opinion  entertained  of  him  is  found,  by  a 
curious  chance,  to  coincide  with  his  opinion 
of  himself.  He  goes.  Perhaps  he  will  be 
given  a  few  small  parts  in  London  and  return 
to  Australia  a  hero.  Possibly  he  will  be 
swallowed  out  of  sight  in  the  world's  vortex, 
and  that  will  be  the  end  of  him.  More 
probably,  he  will  return  disgusted  and  dis- 
illusioned, not  with  his  own  abilities,  but  with 


THEATRES   AND   AMUSEMENTS    141 

the  blasts  of  indifference  and  the  chevaux-de- 
frise  of  cosmopolitan  neglect  that  have  met 
him  abroad. 

If  the  actor  of  purely  local  experience  finds  it 
hard  to  make  a  living,  the  task  is  quite  beyond 
the  capacity  of  the  local  dramatic  aitthor.  One 
or  two  men  born  at  the  Antipodes  have  made 
their  mark  in  England  as  writers  of  plays. 
But  that  has  only  been  after  leaving  the  country 
of  their  birth,  and  after  surviving  years  of  hard 
work  and  discouragement.  Where  is  the  rising 
school  of  Australian  dramatists  ?  Where  are 
even  the  faint  beginnings  of  it  ?  And  where 
are  the  supporters  of  such  a  school?  Echo 
answers  to  these  questions.  It  is  curious  that 
there  should  be  such  a  blankness  of  enterprise 
and  of  inspiration  in  this  domain.  The  country 
is  out  of  its  literary  swaddling  clothes ;  it  can 
support  any  number  of  theatres  ;  it  can  find 
minor  parts  for  any  number  of  Australian  actors 
and  actresses ;  but  it  is  incapable  —  in  its 
present  frame  of  mind,  it  is  totally  incapable 
— of  supporting  a  single  Australian  dramatist. 
The  idea  that  it  might  be  asked  to  do  so 
seems  never  to  have  been  seriously  considered. 
There  have,  indeed,  been  a  few  performances, 


142  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

mostly  by  third-rate,  barn-storming  companies, 
of  plays  dealing  with  the  Kelly  Gang.  And  that 
excellent  comedian  and  manager,  Mr  Bland 
Holt,  has  given  us  a  few  stage  pictures  repre- 
senting Sydney  and  Port  Philip  harbours,  and 
a  few  melodramatic  incidents  supposed  to  have 
taken  place  in  Australia.  But  if  an  audience, 
on  being  invited  to  witness  high-class  comedy 
or  tragedy  of  the  more  intellectual  sort,  were 
to  find  Itself  confronted  with  Circular  Quay 
and  Darlinghurst,  or  with  Collins  Street  and 
Toorak,  or  with  the  people  inhabiting  them, 
it  would  receive  such  a  shock  that  It  would 
not  recover  until  it  had  got  outside  the  theatre 
door — and  possibly  not  then.  It  would  feel  at 
first  amazed,  and  then  insulted.  The  recognised 
understanding  is,  that  nothing  worth  looking  at 
In  the  theatrical  sense,  and  nothing  worthy  of 
presentation  to  an  enlightened  public,  can  by 
any  chance  take  place  unless  it  takes  place 
in  England,  or  on  the  continent  of  Europe, 
or  in  America,  or  in  Japan. 

For  the  reasons  mentioned,  English  actors 
usually  do  well  in  this  part  of  the  world.  The 
old  country  imposes  now  and  then  on  the 
inexperience  of  the  new  one.     It  has  a  habit 


THEATRES  AND  AMUSEMENTS    143 

of  sending  here,  not  merely  its  second  and 
third  best,  but  its  dead-beats  and  its  derelicts. 
The  celebrated  English  actor  of  the  play-bills 
is,  as  often  as  not,  celebrated  only  in  the 
lively  imagination  of  the  entreprenetir  who 
brings  him  out.  He  comes,  however,  with 
a  certain  flourish  of  trumpets  and  glamour 
of  romance.  The  very  fact  that  he  hails 
from  a  distance  of  12,000  miles  is  an  aureole 
round  his  head.  He  can  be  sure  of  a  good 
reception,  of  an  interested,  expectant  audience. 
If  he  has  any  colourable  qualities,  they  will  be 
loudly,  even  rapturously,  applauded.  If  he  is 
very  indifferent,  or  if  he  is  unspeakably  bad, 
he  will  scarcely  be  told  so — at  least  not  at 
first.  The  worst  he  v/ill  receive  from  the 
critics  of  the  great  "  dailies  "  will  be  a  kind  of 
faint  questioning,  a  troubled  note  of  uncertainty, 
a  dim  reminder  of  some  one  else  who  played 
the  part  differently.  They  may  damn  him 
with  faint  praise ;  but  they  will  be  loth,  at 
the  outset,  to  do  more.  The  fact  that  the 
actor  is  understood  to  have  won  applause  in 
England  goes  for  a  good  deal,  and  the  com- 
mercial and  social  instincts  of  the  big  papers 
go  for  rather  more.     A  few  of  the  week-end 


144  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

journals  may  bark  out  vituperation,  but  they 
do  not  really  count.  It  is  well  known  that 
they  are  just  as  likely  to  attack  the  supremely 
good  as  the  atrociously  bad.  In  the  long  run, 
it  may  be — and  perhaps  before  very  long — 
audiences  will  fall  away  from  the  imported 
actor  who  is  manifestly  fourth  and  fifth  rate ; 
for  Australian  play-goers  are  not  naturally 
dull.  They  are,  however,  under  the  spell  of 
foreign  associations ;  they  are  influenced,  to 
a  greater  or  less  extent,  by  newspaper 
criticism  ;  and  they  have  unquestionably  given 
a  number  of  well-boomed  and  press-belauded 
visitors  better  support  than,  on  their  merits 
and  by  comparison  with  the  local  substitute, 
they  deserved. 

So  far  there  has  been  no  American  invasion. 
The  plays  and  the  topical  allusions  in  vogue 
south  of  the  Line  are  either  English  in  origin, 
or  filter  through  an  English  channel.  Pro- 
ductions hailing  from  the  United  States  have 
made  their  appearance  and  have  fretted  their 
hour,  but  they  have  not  succeeded  in  leaving 
a  lasting  mark.  One  reason  is,  that  the 
associations  and  atmosphere  of  the  land  of 
the  dollar  are  not  sufficiently  familiar.     What 


THEATRES   AND   AMUSEMENTS     145 

do  we  know  in  Australia  of  the  Bowery  ? 
What  do  we  know  of  Fifth  Avenue  ?  What 
do  we  know,  or  care,  for  the  Waldorf,  or  the 
Astoria  ?  The  local  colour  of  Fleet  Street, 
of  Westminster,  of  Petticoat  Lane,  and  of 
Kensington,  is,  owing  to  numerous  stage 
acquaintanceships,  something  with  which  every 
audience  feels  at  home.  But  to  talk  to  the 
average  Melbourne  or  Sydney  man  of  the 
streets  and  hotels  and  public  buildings  of 
Boston  and  New  York  and  Philadelphia,  is 
to  talk  to  him  in  a  foreign  language.  In  the 
majority  of  cases  he  does  not  know,  and  when 
he  does  know,  he  does  not  care. 

Another  reason  is,  that  the  typical  American 
production  lacks  depth  and  height.  It  catches 
something  of  what  is  flitting  on  the  surface  of 
America ;  but  it  forgets  that  America,  though 
topographically  a  large  place,  is  only  a  fraction 
of  the  intellectual  and  artistic  world.  The 
country  has  notyet  its  Sardou,  or  its  Sudermann, 
or  its  Ibsen,  nor  yet  its  D'Annunzio,  or  its 
Pinero,  or  even  its  Henry  Arthur  Jones.  A 
dramatist  spoken  of  as  the  American  Sardou 
made  his  bow  in  Melbourne  a  year  or  two 
ago,    with   a   tragedy   named    Nadjezda.      It 

K 


146  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

was  soon  made  manifest  that  he  had  not 
come  to  stay.  Neither  have  such  productions 
as  A  Trip  to  Chinatown  or  The  Belle  of 
New  York,  or  Leah  Kleschna,  been  respon- 
sible for  much  genuine  success.  The  Yankee 
playwright  is  clever  with  words  and  indifferent 
with  ideas.  As  to  emotions,  he  has  heard 
that  they  exist. 

Yet  there  is  one  important,  non-English 
product  that  has  won  a  great  welcome  from 
Australian  audiences.  This  is  the  American 
actress.  She  has  not  been  able  to  acclimatise 
the  works  of  her  own  countrymen  ;  she  has 
usually  refrained  from  attempting  to  do  so. 
Clothing  her  individuality  in  the  language  of 
Shakespeare  and  Sheridan,  of  Ibsen  and 
Bjornsten,  of  Sudermann  and  Maeterlinck, 
of  Sardou  and  Rostand  and  the  Younger 
Dumas ;  heralded  always  by  a  tremendous 
flourish  of  trumpets,  and  accompanied  usually 
by  an  astute  stage  manager ;  restraining  her 
national  prejudices  and  reducing  her  American 
accent  to  a  few  pretty  words  and  phrases,  she 
has  been  enabled  to  accomplish  a  great  deal. 
The  lady  from  the  United  States  brings  with 
her  youth   as  a  foremost   asset.     She    knows 


THEATRES   AND   AMUSEMENTS    147 

that  it  is  difficult  to  "star"  through  a 
continent  without  this  ally.  She  has  it  pro- 
claimed— loudly  proclaimed — as  part  of  her 
equipment.  Everywhere  she  plays  the  Young 
American  Actress.  It  is  the  first  and  the 
most  effective  piece  in  her  repertoire.  For 
the  rest,  she  finds  it  advisable  to  cultivate  a 
manner,  and  a  certain  distinction  of  style,  when 
off  the  stage.  Sometimes  she  is  effusive,  even 
demonstrative,  and  inclined  to  be  gracious  to 
interviewers.  Sometimes  she  is  magnificently 
cold  and  distant,  with  a  coldness  that  is  only 
comparable  to  the  fierce  warmth  of  the 
characters  in  which  she  revels  behind  the  foot- 
lights. But  always  in  Australia — whether  she 
is  on  the  stage  or  off  it — she  is  acting,  act- 
ing, acting.  Stage-struck  people  send  her 
flowers ;  infatuated  people  write  her  verses. 
She  accepts  them  all  and  welcomes  them  all 
as  tributes  to  her  artistic  success.  She  is 
brilliantly  clever,  with  a  cleverness  that  is  all 
of  the  head.  She  gets  a  great  deal,  and  she 
deserves  what  she  gets. 

To  come  back  to  Australian  audiences,  it 
requires  very  little  argument  to  show  there 
is  only  one  kind  of  play  that  really  appeals  to 


148  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

them.  It  is  the  kind  of  play  that  hovers  about 
the  confines  of  a  socially  fashionable,  and 
morally  unorthodox,  world.  It  is  edged  round 
with  impropriety ;  it  is  coloured,  permeated, 
enlivened  with  what  the  immortal  author  of 
Bab  Ballads  calls  "guilty  splendour."  In 
the  background  are  the  lilies  and  languors  of 
virtue,  but  in  the  foreground,  placed  there  for 
the  people  to  smile  at  and  to  condemn,  are 
the  raptures  and  roses  of  vice.  The  theme, 
no  doubt,  has  endless  variants  :  sometimes  the 
end  is  tragic,  and  sometimes  it  is  amusing ; 
sometimes  a  majority  of  the  commandments 
suffer,  and  sometimes  only  one.  It  is  advisable 
that  there  should  be  a  kind  of  supposed  moral 
purpose  running  through  the  production.  It 
is  an  advantage  to  have  one  or  two  high- 
minded  characters  as  foils  to  the  others  ;  and 
as  a  concession  to  custom,  or  as  a  salve  to  the 
uneasy  British  conscience,  it  is  always  a  wise 
policy  to  bring  the  immoral  people  to  grief 
in  the  last  act.  But  no  one  can  pretend  to 
deny  that  it  is  these  latter — these  fashionable 
rakes  and  brilliantly  attired  courtesans — who 
constitute  the  real  attraction  of  the  Australian 
stage  to-day.     If  any  one  doubts  this,  let  him 


THEATRES   AND   AMUSEMENTS     149 

attempt  to  run  a  theatrical  season  without 
them,  and  let  him  put  on  the  boards  a  drama 
dealing  only  with  conventional  or  with  virtuous 
people.  His  downfall  will  be  swift  and  con- 
vincing and  sure. 

For  psychology,  the  typical  Australian 
audience  cares  little.  For  poetry  on  the 
stage,  it  cares  less.  For  blank  verse  it  has 
no  inclination.  For  sustained  dignity  it  has 
no  time.  With  intellectual  fireworks  it  is 
but  indifferently  and  partially  amused. 

Comedy  that  lies  hid  in  delicate  shades  and 
nuances,  comedy  that  is  chiefly  a  matter  of 
scintillating  words  and  phrases,  is  not  asked 
for  by  the  multitude.  Even  the  brilliancy  of 
Mr  Bernard  Shaw  at  his  best  can  command 
but  a  limited  circle  of  admirers.  Even  the 
problem,  considered  merely  as  a  problem,  is 
devoid  of  drawing  power.  When  it  attracts, 
it  attracts  because  of  its  dazzling  pictures  of 
luxury  and  licentiousness. 

Tragedy  requires  to  be  carefully  handled. 
It  is  only  when  it  is  decked  out  in  certain 
robes,  only  when  embroidered  with  certain 
trappings,  only  when  set  to  certain  music, 
that  it  will  crowd  the  benches.     The  merely 


150  THE    REAL    AUSTRALIA 

sordid  themes  have  lost  their  hold,  if  they 
ever  had  one.  An  immoral  play  that  persists 
in  showing  its  characters  in  a  garb  of  sack- 
cloth and  ashes  has  little  chance  of  gaining 
an  extended  hearing. 

One  play  that  has  had  a  marvellously 
successful  run  in  Australia  is  entitled  Woman 
and  Wine.  The  name  might  just  as  appropri- 
ately have  been  given  to  nine  out  of  every 
ten  productions  that  have  held,  for  any  length 
of  time,  the  local  stage.  Whether  it  is 
Camille,  or  The  Second  Mrs  Tanqueray,  or 
The  Gay  Lord  Quex,  or  Dolores,  or  Zaza,  or 
Qjto  Vadis,  or  Siueet  Nell  of  Old  Drnry,  or 
The  Country  Mouse,  or  The  Marriage  of 
Kitty,  or  The  White  Heather,  or  any  other 
melodrama  of  the  unfailing  Bland  Holt  and 
Anderson  pattern,  the  title  might,  with  equal 
appropriateness,  have  been  that  of  the  popular 
piece  of  work  already  mentioned.  A  theatre- 
going  public — any  theatre-going  public  —  is 
reached  less  easily  through  its  intellect  than 
through  its  senses.  What  wonder,  therefore, 
that  a  management  should  find  it  advisable 
to  stage  Woman  and  Wine  ? 

Caring  only  for  one  kind  of  play,  Australian 


THEATRES  AND   AMUSEMENTS    151 

audiences  are  quite  willing,  in  their  restless 
desire  for  novelty,  to  coquet  with  others. 
That  last  expression  of  national  boredom  and 
ineptitude,  musical  comedy,  has  its  following 
at  the  Antipodes.  This  form  of  amusement, 
like  the  others,  is  borrowed.  It  is  doubtful 
whether  Australian  audiences  would  ever  have 
taken  to  it,  had  they  not  been  assured  that  it 
was  regarded  in  England  as  the  correct  thing. 
Now  that  it  has  obtained  a  footing,  it  is  found 
to  have  a  certain  attractiveness.  It  has 
become  almost  a  rage.  The  reason  is  to  be 
found  in  the  circumstance  that  it  relieves  the 
onlooker  from  the  necessity  of  having  to  think. 
This  is  a  consideration  that  cannot  well  be 
over-estimated.  For  the  rest,  it  boasts  a 
number  of  shapely-looking  chorus  girls,  and 
a  funny  man,  whose  business  it  is  to  be  as 
mirthfully  suggestive,  and  as  suggestively 
mirthful  as  possible.  There  is  also  some 
music,  but  this  scarcely  counts.  The  comedy 
that  is  dubbed  musical  is  not  seriously  vicious, 
but  then  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  virtue. 
The  latter  circumstance,  combined  with  its 
gaudy  colours,  its  short  skirts,  and  its  chorus 
girls,  helps   it  joyously  on  its  way. 


152  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

The  claim  is  occasionally  made,  that  one 
part  of  the  continent  is  more  favourable  to 
high  dramatic  art  than  another.  Melbourne, 
which  is  always  endeavouring  to  be  superior 
to  every  other  city  in  Australia,  is  accustomed 
to  delude  itself  with  the  idea  that  it  is  fond  of 
intellectual  plays.  It  makes  a  decent  pretence, 
now  and  again,  of  attending  a  revival  of 
Shakespeare.  If  the  brief  season  proves  a 
failure,  as  it  usually  does,  the  critics  unkindly 
tell  the  performers  that  it  is  they,  and  not  the 
Bard  of  Avon,  or  the  taste  of  the  Melbourne 
public,  that  are  at  fault.  Sydney,  to  do  it 
justice,  is  given  over  to  no  such  unnecessary 
make-believe.  Shakespeare  has  been  ex- 
purgated so  much  that  there  is  no  risk,  and 
consequently  no  excitement,  in  going  to  see 
him,  and  Sydney  stays  away. 

Outside  the  drama  there  are  amusements 
which,  between  them,  take  up  most  of  the 
thought  and  most  of  the  spare  time  of  the 
people.  But  little  requires  to  be  said  of  them, 
because,  while  they  resemble  the  drama  in 
that  they  are  borrowed  from  abroad,  they 
give  much  less  scope  for  the  play  of  individual 
taste   and  temper  and  sensibility.      Racing  is 


THEATRES   AND   AMUSEMENTS    153 

the  national  recreation,  just  as  gambling  is 
the  national  vice.  The  two  insensibly  melt 
into  each  other.  It  is  a  great  sporting 
continent.  When  the  word  "sport"  is  used — 
when  a  certain  individual  is  called  a  sports- 
man, and  another  individual  is  referred  to  as 
a  follower  of  "the  game" — the  reference  is 
invariably  to  the  game  in  which  the  horse 
and  the  bookmaker  play  the  leading  parts. 
No  writer,  however  admirable  his  intentions, 
and  however  lurid  his  language,  has  been 
able  to  exaggerate  the  hold  which  racing  has 
over  the  whole  population  from  Port  Darwin 
to  Cape  Otway,  and  from  Brisbane  round  to 
Perth.  The  office  boy  reads  his  racing 
intelligence  in  the  papers  with  as  much  zest, 
and  usually  with  as  much  critical  discernment, 
as  does  the  man  of  wealth  and  leisure.  The 
man  who  never  goes  to  horse  races  and 
never  talks  horse,  is  to  be  met  with,  but  he 
is  distincdy  uncommon.  He  stands  apart 
from  the  rest  of  the  community.  He  is  a 
modern  Isaac  Newton,  given  to  voyaging 
throuorh  strano;e  social  seas  alone. 

The  assertion   that  racing  is   a   noble   and 
improving    pastime — improving   to   the    breed 


154  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

of  horses  and  incidentally  to  the  people  who 
look  on — is  continually  being  made  by  writers 
who  should  know  something  of  the  subject. 
A  few  delusions  of  the  respectable  sort  are 
considered  necessary  in  the  life  of  a  people, 
and  the  decent  efforts  of  sporting  authorities 
to  keep  these  delusions  alive  are  not  treated 
with  disrespect.  But  any  one  who  wishes  to 
discover  the  real  facts  can  easily  do  so.  The 
public  who  support  racing  care  as  much  for 
improving  the  breed  of  horses,  as  they  do 
for  civilising  the  Solomon  Islanders,  or  for 
christianising  the  Chinese — as  much  and  no 
more.  The  horse  is  emphatically  not  the 
thing ;  he  is  not  the  end ;  he  can  hardly  be 
called  the  means  to  the  end ;  he  is  merely 
a  useful  pawn  in  the  great  and  insidious 
gambling  game.  In  this  game  there  are 
certain  rules  w^hich  have  to  be  observed. 
That  is  to  say,  they  must  not  be  broken  in 
too  open,  or  too  defiant,  or  too  glaring  a 
manner.  But  under  cover  of  these  rules,  and 
under  pretext  of  observing  them,  ever)"  one 
does  his  best  to  swindle  every  one  else.  The 
owner  begins  by  deceiving  the  public ;  the 
trainer,    if  it   is   sufficiently   worth  his   while, 


THEATRES   AND   AMUSEMENTS     155 

misleads  the  owner ;  the  jockey  scores 
repeatedly  oft*  the  trainer ;  the  bookmaker 
does  his  best  to  make  a  profit  out  of  the 
other  three.  The  people  who  pay  in  the 
last  resort  are  the  public.  It  is  all  very 
interesting,  and  very  expensive.  The  atmos- 
phere of  speculation  is  buoyant  and  breezy, 
and,  for  the  time  being,  exhilarating.  Yet  for 
all  except  those  who  have  learned  how  to 
move  about  in  it — for  all  except  the  owners, 
and,  trainerSj  and  jockeys,  and  bookmakers, 
and  a  few  others — it  is  decidedly  unhealthy. 
While  it  is  possibly  advisable  to  have  national 
amusements,  it  is  an  advantage  to  understand 
what  we  are  doing.  The  man  in  Mrs 
Thurston's  novel,  who  keeps  talking  about 
"nerves,'  when  he  means  opium,  becomes, 
after  a  time,  an  inftiction.  And  the  individual 
who  is  always  referring  to  "sport,"  when  he 
means  horse-racing,  is  in  danger  of  growing 
tedious. 

The     continent     has     its     athletic     eames, 
althouoh  none  of  these  can  be  called  national 


in    the    sense    that    racine    is    national.     N 


o 


Ot 


even    cricket.       The    Englishman    sees    more 


G 


of    Australian    cricketers    than    he    does    of 


156  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

Australian  horses,  and  may  be  inclined  to 
think  that  a  country  which  has  beaten  him  at 
Lords,  while  it  has  been  unable  to  raise  a 
decent  gallop  at  Epsom,  must  perforce  pay 
more  attention  to  cricket  than  it  does  to  horse- 
racing.  The  idea,  if  it  exists,  is  amusingly 
erroneous.  How  do  the  attendances  at  Club 
cricket  compare  with  the  attendances  at  local 
race  meetings?  How  does  the  sprinkling  of 
enthusiasts  at  the  one  fixture  look  beside  the 
tens  of  thousands,  who,  week  in  and  week  out, 
follow  the  racing  game  in  every  centre  of 
population  in  the  Commonwealth  ?  An  inter- 
national cricket  match  will  always  draw  a 
crowd ;  but  international  cricket  matches  are 
few  and  far  between.  The  truth  is  that  the 
speculation  fever,  the  gambling  fever,  the 
fever  to  which  the  horse  acts  as  the  main 
irritant,  runs  in  the  blood  of  the  people.  The 
other  excitements  are  transitory,  and  merely 
endemic. 

In  the  realm  of  sport,  to  use  the  generic 
word,  there  is  nothing  that  the  people  will 
not  attempt,  nothing  on  which  they  have 
not  turned  a  roving  eye.  They  play  football, 
golf,  tennis,  croquet,  hockey,  lacrosse,  bridge. 


THEATRES   AND   AMUSEMENTS     157 

ping-pong,  and  a  great  deal  else.  They 
indulge  in  skating  on  artificial  ice,  and,  in  the 
middle  of  a  tropic  summer,  struggle  with 
dumplings  and  roast  beef.  They  seek  amuse- 
ment everywhere.  In  the  mass,  they  are  far 
more  impressed  by  skill  at  some  kind  of  game 
than  by  any  intellectual  achievements.  The 
hero-worship  goes  out,  in  the  first  place,  to 
the  successful  cricketer,  and  in  the  next  place, 
to  the  leading  jockey,  with  the  politician  an 
indifferent  third,  and  the  local  poet  or  litterateur 
entirely  out  of  the  running.  It  is  an  undeni- 
able fact  that  his  countrymen  were  more  proud 
of  that  amiable  and  pleasant  youth,  Mr  Victor 
Trumper,  after  his  English  season  of  1902, 
than  they  have  ever  been  of  any  Prime 
Minister,  actor,  author,  singer,  poet,  or 
professor  of  metaphysics  in  the  land. 

In  the  world  of  sport  and  of  recreation, 
just  as  in  the  world  of  the  stage,  there  is  the 
tendency  to  borrow,  and  to  borrow  again.  The 
games  that  are  played  in  England  are  played 
here,  just  as  the  kind  of  drama  that  is  acted 
in  England  is  acted  here.  It  matters  little 
whether  the  climate  and  temperament  and 
other   conditions  are  suitable,  or  the  reverse. 


158  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

The    initiative    faculty    is    stronger    than    its 
surroundings.     To  watch   a   game   of   Rugby 
football  in  progress  at  Charters  Towers,  or  at 
Brisbane,  is  to  wonder  whether  a  new  race  of 
Salamanders,    gifted   with  tireless  energy  and 
some    marvellous    kind  of  asbestos    physique, 
has   struck   the    earth.       There    is    only  one 
thing   that  may  in  the  end    kill  the  initiative 
faculty,  and  that  is  the  national  dislike  for  too 
much  exertion.     There  are  not  wanting  faint 
indications  that  Australia  is  beginning  to  find 
the  strain  of  these  more  strenuous   pastimes 
too  severe,  that  it  is  slowly  but  surely  coming 
to  the  conclusion  that  training  for  football  and 
for  sculling  matches  necessitates  more  sustained 
effort  than  the  result  is  worth.     It  may  be  all 
very  well  for  the  Englishman  to  keep  himself 
warm    by    vigorous    exercise.       His    climate 
requires  heroic    treatment.      The   Australian, 
though  still  ready  to  abase  himself  before  the 
successful  athlete,  is  slowly  working  round  to 
the  conviction  that  certain  pursuits  are  better 
adapted  for  the  Northern  Hemisphere  than  for 
his  own.       The  day  is  coming,  and  may  not 
be  far  distant,  when  the  Australian  people  will 
revolt   from    their    Christmas    dumplings,   and 


THEATRES   AND   AMUSEMENTS    159 

abandon  their  Rugby  football ;  when  they 
will  be  content,  from  North  to  South,  with 
backing  unreliable  steeds  on  a  race-course, 
with  playing  poker  in  a  shady  room,  and  with 
watching  from  the  stalls  of  a  theatre,  the 
swaying  forms  of  lightly  clad  heroines,  and 
the  graceful  movements  of  dancing  feet. 


VIII 

THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE 

"  But  still  I  see  the  tenor  of  man's  woe 
Holds  on  the  same,  from  woman  to  begin." 
"From  man's  effeminate  slackness  it  begins, 
(Said  the  Angel)  who  should  better  l-old  his  place." 

If  a  writer  were    always    able    to    put  down 
on    canvas  his    earlier   and   more  enthusiastic 
impressions,  he  might  draw  a  pretty  picture  of 
the   Australian   woman.     She    should    be   the 
crown  and  glory  of  every  Southern  landscape  ; 
she  should  have  the  dawn  in  her  eyes,  and  the 
sun   upon  her  hair.     In  a  street  along  which 
the  heat  waves  were    dancing   with   a  joyous 
and  unrestrained  fervour  ;  In  a  ball-room  which 
echoed  and  re-echoed    to    rhythms    of  music  ; 
on  a  lawn  that  was   decked  with  hundreds  of 
sun-shades  and  fringed  with  myriads  of  garden 
flowers ;   by  the  shade  of  trees,  on  the  brink 
of  rivers,  In  the  starlight  of  conservatories,  on 
the  slopes  of  undulating  plains,  whenever  and 
wherever  the  scene  wanted  a  touch  of  life  to 
add  to  Its  romantic  Interest,  she  would  be  the 
subtle  something  imparting    to    the    new   and 

i6o 


THE    ETERNAL   FEMININE  i6i 

matter-of-fact  continent  a  tinge  of  the  colour 
of  dreams.  She  should  be  all  this  and  more, 
if  one  could  put  the  clock  back  to  the  days 
before  the  fiery  sword  of  experience  laid  bare 
the  garden  of  imagination  ;  if  one  could,  by 
dint  of  any  mental,  metaphysical,  or  chemical 
process,  gather  up  and  refurnish  the  snows  of 
a  year  ago. 

On  a  subject  of  this  kind  it  is  easy  to  adopt 
one  or  other  of  two  contrasted  veins  :  either 
the  idealistic  vein  of  that  thin-spun  romanticist, 
Mr  Richard  le  Gallienne,  or  the  critical  vein 
of  that  earnest  searcher  after  paradox,  Mr 
Crosland.  Is  the  Australian  girl  to  be 
idealised?  She  would  hardly  thank  you.  Is 
she  to  be  satirised  ?  She  would  thank  you 
less.  Is  the  truth  to  be  told  about  her?  She 
would  meet  you  with  Pilate's  question,  and 
ask  you  to  say  where  it  is  to  be  found.  Of  all 
tasks,  that  of  idealising  is  the  least  profitable, 
and  in  some  respects,  the  most  dangerous. 
You  are  liable  to  suffer  in  your  own  estimation 
and  in  hers,  by  finding  at  some  later  stage  that 
you  have  idealised  the  Australian  woman  for 
the  qualities  of  which  she  possesses  least,  and 
for  which  she  has  no  kind  of  sympathy.     She 


i62  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

prides  herself  on  her  modernity,  and  on  her 
knowledge  of  the  world.  She  boasts — and  it 
is  her  most  frequent  boast,  though  it  is  quite 
unjustified — that  she  is  not  sentimental.  She 
declares  that  she  wishes  only  to  know  the 
truth ;  and  the  truth,  despite  what  Mr  le 
Gallienne  and  Mr  Crosland  may  write  to  the 
contrary,  it  should  be  the  business  of  every 
conscientious  chronicler  to  tell. 

It  is  necessary  to  say  something  about  the 
position  of  women  in  the  social  and  public  life 
of  Australia.  It  is  a  position  in  many  respects 
enviable.  In  this  country,  be  it  understood, 
we  have  shaken  ourselves  free  of  sex  pre- 
judices. It  is  undeniable  that  there  are  a 
certain  number  of  rich  but  respectable  people 
who  would  fain  rescue  the  public  life  of  the 
continent  from  the  threatening  danger  of  a 
feminine  invasion.  These  individuals  for  the 
most  part  occupy  seats  in  a  Legislative 
Council,  and  own  warehouses  in  Flinders 
Lane,  and  run  wool  stores  along  Circular 
Quay :  but  they  do  not  represent  public 
opinion.  There  are  only  enough  of  them  to 
fill  one  or  two  Houses  of  Parliament.  Being 
in  a  hopeless  minority,  they  may  be  left,  for 


THE   ETERNAL   FEMININE  163 

purposes    of    the   present   discussion,    on   one 
side. 

The  pubHc  sense  of  the  community  is 
represented  by  the  man  about  town,  and  this 
man,  in  theory,  at  any  rate,  is  free  of  sex 
prejudices.  He  is  much  more  free  of  them 
than  is  the  average  EngHshman  or  the  typical 
European — if  there  is  such  a  type — or  the 
male  biped  of  the  yellow,  or  brown,  or  any 
coloured  variety.  He  is  on  a  level  with  the 
progressive  American ;  even,  so  far  as  the 
question  of  the  franchise  is  concerned,  ahead 
of  him.  He  does  not  deny  the  fairness  of 
admitting  women  to  the  learned  professions. 
He  is  seldom  willing  to  stand  up  and  assert, 
with  the  blatant  unwisdom  that  is  the  heritage 
of  past  centuries,  that  they  are  mentally 
or  otherwise  unfitted  to  exercise  a  vote  at 
elections.  Liberty,  equality,  freedom  for  both 
sexes,  are  ideals  that  he  can  understand.  In 
theory  he  is  an  emancipator,  a  reformer.  Such 
prejudices  as  he  possesses  do  not  take  the 
shape  of  definite  views  and  opinions ;  they  are 
the  unconscious  relics  of  custom  working  down 
through  the  ages.  Theoretically  he  believes 
in  woman's  advancement ;    but  practically  he 


i64  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

has  no  desire  to  see  his  bride-elect,  or  any  one 
of  his  feminine  relations,  declaiming  politics 
from  a  platform,  or  laying  down  the  law  to 
judges,  or  teaching  logic  to  a  school  of  meta- 
physicians. He  is  in  no  danger  of  becoming 
infatuated  with  the  women  who  do  these 
things  ;  but  neither  would  he  be  any  party  to 
an  arbitrary  edict  forbidding  that  they  should 
be  done. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  the  feminine 
type  most  sought  after  in  this  country,  or  in 
other  countries,  is  the  picturesquely  foolish 
type.  As  it  happens,  the  Australian  woman 
is  by  no  means  foolish  ;  on  the  contrary,  she 
is  unusually  clever.  Nothing  comes  amiss  to 
her ;  there  is  no  part  that  she  could  not  play 
if  called  upon  to  do  so.  With  the  unusual 
gift  of  perception  that  is  part  of  her  mental 
equipment,  she  understands  always  what  role 
is  calculated  to  make  her  most  attractive  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world.  She  knows  that  the 
average  man,  despite  his  occasional  glimmer- 
ings of  reason  and  of  intelligence,  is  rendered 
uneasy  by  too  much  cleverness  in  a  woman, 
just  as  a  mediocre  piano  player  is  alarmed  by 
the  display  of  virtuosity  in  a  rival.     For  various 


THE    ETERNAL   FEMININE  165 

reasons,  the  average  woman  finds  It  still  to  her 
interest  to  placate  the  average  man.  She  sets 
to  work  accordingly.  In  the  great  game  of 
make-believe  she  has  no  equals.  She  is  full 
of  quaint  and  illogical  surprises.  For  dis- 
simulation she  has  the  prettiest  art  Imaginable. 
She  will  always  plume  herself — more  especially 
in  those  moments  of  confidence  that  are  shared 
with  you  and  the  stars — on  the  precise  qualities 
that  are  not  hers.  If  she  happens  to  be  a 
brilliant  University  student,  she  will  talk  mainly 
of  her  performances  with  a  sewing-machine. 
If  she  is  a  high -class  musician,  and  has  no 
literary  faculty  whatever,  she  will  talk,  not 
of  her  interpretations  of  Brahms  and  Chopin, 
but  of  some  journalistic  composition  that  a 
mendacious  editor  thought  fit  to  praise.  If 
she  is  ignorant  of  the  difference  between  a 
flat-Iron  and  a  rolling-pin,  she  will  tell  you 
of  an  Imaginary  confection  of  hers  that 
excited  the  raptures  of  a  fictitious  gathering 
oi gour^nands.  If  she  Is  intensely  practical  she 
will  play  very  dexterously  for  your  amusement 
on  a  sentimental  string.  The  artistic  sense  In 
her  is  not  dulled  by  a  prosaic  adherence  to 
facts.      She  is  anything  but  what  she  seems. 


i66  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

It  is  something  more  than  a  coincidence 
that  both  the  churches  and  the  theatres  in 
AustraHa  should  be  mainly  supported  by 
women.  Both  institutions  go  beyond  the 
region  of  commonplace  realities  ;  both  appeal 
to  the  finer  sense — the  sense  of  something 
that  is  not  prosaic.  It  is  melancholy  to 
think  what  might  happen  to  ecclesiastical 
institutions  in  Australia  if  women  did  not 
go  to  church.  It  is  interesting  to  reflect 
that  there  are  more  stage-struck  girls  in  the 
community  than  in  any  other  of  the  same 
size  on  earth.  Those  who  cannot  act  behind 
the  footlights,  act  at  home  and  in  the  houses 
of  their  neighbours.  They  carry  into  the 
walks  of  everyday  life  the  histrionic  faculty, 
without  which  grace  is  a  thing  unknown, 
and  unadorned  human  nature  is  painfully 
crude  and  severe.  The  man  is  seldom  an 
adept  in  these  matters.  As  a  rule  he  has 
no  skill  at  concealing  his  deficiencies.  He 
flounders  badly  amid  uncongenial  surroundings. 
The  Australian  girl,  on  the  other  hand,  will 
adapt  herself  with  great  readiness  to  any  set 
of  circumstances,  will  look  happy  when  she 
is  feeling  exasperated,  will  smile  cordially  on 


THE    ETERNAL   FEMININE  167 

women  she  detests,  will  listen  with  charming 
and  intelligent  sympathy  to  monologues  on 
subjects  for  which  she  cares  not  at  all,  will 
be  intensely  Bohemian  or  rigidly  conservative 
just  as  she  thinks  is  required. 

There  are  certain  types  that  have  latterly 
been  attracting  attention,  and  one  of  these 
is  the  political  woman.  With  her  natural 
talent  for  experimenting  the  Australian  woman 
has  paid  some  attention  to  politics,  and  she 
has  found  the  pastime  moderately  interesting, 
so  long  as  nothing  more  intrinsically  important 
has  been  to  hand. 

There  are  two  recognised  kinds  of  political 
women  on  the  continent.  One  of  these,  and 
by  far  the  more  numerous,  is  the  dilettante,  the 
feminine  dabbler.  She  has  a  pretty,  graceful 
way  of  deprecating  too  much  knowledge  of  her 
subject.  She  rarely  comes  into  prominence 
except  at  election  times.  She  is  convinced 
that  Smith  is  a  better  man  for  the  country 
than  Jones,  but  she  is  far  from  pretending  to 
know  what  Smith's  views  are  on  the  fiscal 
question,  whether  he  is  a  single  taxer,  a 
preferential  trader,  or  a  person  of  secret 
anarchical    tendencies.     If  you   ask   her    why 


i68  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

she  supports  Smith  she  will  probably  tell  you 
that  she  dislikes  Jones.  She  is  an  expert  and 
resourceful  canvasser ;  like  the  pallida  mors 
of  the  Roman  poet  she  knocks  impartially  at 
the  huts  of  the  poor  and  the  mansions  of  the 
rich.  She  goes  to  the  poll  if  a  conveyance 
is  handy,  or  if  it  is  not  too  far  to  walk,  and 
she  wins,  or  helps  to  win,  many  elections. 

Unlike  her  is  the  other  type  of  political 
woman — the  intensely  serious,  aggressive  type. 
This  type  is  not  numerous,  but  what  there 
is  of  it  is  formidable.  It  is  the  very  latest 
thing  in  Australian  public  life.  It  is  deter- 
mined to  regenerate  the  world  by  the  deus  ex 
viachina  of  the  ballot  box.  It  has  a  mania  for 
contesting  seats  in  Parliament.  Its  opinion  of 
the  opposite  sex  is  quite  unfit  for  publication — 
nevertheless  it  is  often  published.  The  type 
of  this  description  is  unusual  and  rather 
abnormal,  yet  there  are  not  wanting  indications 
that  it  is  growing  in  numbers. 

Another  kind  of  woman  often  met  with  has 
made  a  special  cult  of  sestheticism.  With 
the  sex  in  Australia,  aestheticism  and  theosophy 
usually  go  together.  The  writer  has  been 
unable    to    discover    what   difference,    if   any, 


THE   ETERNAL   FEMININE  169 

exists  between  the  two,  or  where  the  one 
begins  and  the  other  leaves  off.  It  is 
surprising  to  think  what  a  number  of  girls, 
particularly  during  recent  years,  have  taken 
to  professing  themselves  theosophists.  The 
Anglican  curate  and  the  young  non-Conformist 
preacher  have  but  a  modified  social  success  in 
Australia.  They  are  not  the  toys  and  darlings 
of  any  but  a  very  limited  sisterhood.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  man  who  can  talk  mysticism, 
and  quote  Plato  or  Edwin  Arnold,  can  be 
sure  of  a  wide  and  growing  feminine  clientele. 
If,  in  addition,  he  can  play  the  violin,  he  leaps 
at  once  into  a  blaze  of  popularity.  It  is  an 
interesting  phrase  of  the  feminine  tempera- 
ment, this  leaning  towards  a  spiritualistic- 
cum  -  theosophic  -  cum  -  Buddhist-cum  -  aesthetic 
School.  The  underlying  principle,  the  subtle 
essence  pervading  the  whole,  is  a  yearning  for 
the  higher  life.  This  yearning  is  not  actually 
expressed  in  common  words  "  understanded  " 
by  the  vulgar,  but  is  implied  in  certain  lines 
borrowed  from  The  Light  of  Asia,  in  certain 
names  taken  from  the  Sacred  Books  of  the 
Vedas,  in  a  certain  transcendentalism  of  appear- 
ance, a  certain  intensity  of  manner,  a  certain 


I70  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

trick  of  the  voice,  now  and  then  in  a  certain 
severe  simplicity  in  arranging  the  hair. 

At  the  opposite  pole  from  the  aesthetic,  is 
the  athletic  woman.  This  latter  type  is  very 
often  to  be  met  with.  Considering  the 
languorous  and  enervating  climate  that  she 
has,  for  the  most  part,  to  contend  against,  her 
performances  are  more  than  creditable.  She 
sweeps  a  wide  gamut  of  athletic  achievement. 
Golf  is  one  of  her  specialties,  but  it  does  not 
operate  to  the  exclusion  of  other  things.  She 
plays  tennis  with  a  tremendous  amount  of 
energy,  more  particularly  when  it  is  a  question 
of  a  ladies'  four,  and  the  masculine  onlooker 
or  player  is  absent.  In  the  curious  and 
indefinite  pastime  known  as  "mixed  doubles," 
she  is  a  perpetual  source  of  astonishment, 
alternating  between  sudden  fits  of  energy  and 
a  graceful  quiescence  in  the  middle  of  the 
court.  Her  partner  is  never  quite  sure  whether 
she  is  secretly  wild  with  rage  at  him  for  taking 
her  shots,  or  whether  she  is  disgusted  with 
his  laziness  in  leaving  so  much  to  her.  The 
athletic  woman  will  also  row  vigorously,  walk 
untiringly,  play  hockey  till  she  is  red  in  the 
face,  and  dance  the  strongest  male  partner  off 


THE   ETERNAL   FEMININE  171 

his  feet.  In  the  ordinary  course  of  things  she 
is  independent  of  companionship,  and  has  no 
use  whatever  for  a  chaperone.  The  least 
attractive  feature  about  her  is  her  language. 
In  this  respect  she  can  out- Herod  Herod,  and 
out-slang  the  slangiest  barracker  at  the  most 
exciting  football  match  that  was  ever  played 
on  the  Australian  field.  Even  Professor  Morris 
has  no  clue  to  certain  of  the  terms  which  she 
evolves  either  from  the  recesses  of  her  memory, 
or  from  the  depths  of  her  inner  consciousness. 
It  is  stated  that  she  can,  on  occasion,  skip 
lightly  across  the  border  of  colloquialism  into 
the  stormy  regions  of  profanity.  That  may 
be  so.  In  any  case,  there  is  not  a  great  deal 
to  choose  between  the  lady  who  sometimes 
borrows  an  Australia  curse  word,  and  her 
whose  ready  -  money  is  the  aforesaid  awful 
vernacular. 

Yet  another  type  is  the  scholastic  woman. 
The  lingering  mediaevalism  of  Oxford  and 
Cambridge  would  be  surprised  if  it  knew 
to  what  an  extent  in  Australia  masculine 
prerogative  in  the  matter  of  higher  education 
has  broken  down.  We  teach  our  girls  every- 
thing from   classics   to  metaphysics,   from   the 


172  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

theory  of  music  to  the  practice  of  medicine, 
from  botany  to  jurisprudence,  from  dressmaking 
to  trigonometry,  from  cookery  to  architecture, 
from  domestic  economy  to  Egyptology,  from 
plain  sewing  to  conic  sections.  There  is 
nothing  in  which  they  are  not  being  per- 
petually instructed ;  and  for  the  result  you 
have  only  to  look  around.  The  erudite  woman 
is  everywhere.  Sometimes  she  teaches  in  a 
High  School  or  College  ;  sometimes  she  is  to 
be  encountered  at  home,  just  returned  from 
a  finishing  tour  to  Europe,  half  shuddering  at 
the  prospect  of  contact  with  numerous  illiterate 
and  unfinished  persons,  half  inclined  to  envy 
her  sister  the  loaves  and  fishes  of  common 
domestic  life.  This  scholarly  woman — not  the 
one  who  possesses  merely  a  smattering  of 
scholarship,  but  the  one  who  has  used  her 
cleverness  in  a  sustained  attempt  to  acquire 
knowledge — the  one  who  has  taken  degrees 
and  passed  examinations  by  the  dozen — is 
usually  unattractive  to  the  eye.  She  is  inclined 
to  be  pale,  inclined  to  be  angular,  inclined  to 
wear  spectacles.  She  has  learned  too  much 
to  have  any  illusions.  She  has  worked  too 
hard    to   have    much    feminine    fancy    remain- 


THE   ETERNAL   FEMININE  173 

ing.  It  is  impossible  for  her  to  make  a  hero 
of  a  man,  because  through  a  long  course  of 
scientific  and  experimental  observations  she 
has  become  perfectly  well  acquainted  with  his 
thousand  weaknesses,  vices,  physical  failings, 
and  mental  limitations.  The  man  knows  that 
he  stands  before  her  like  an  open  book. 
Knowing  this,  he  trembles,  as  he  has  every 
reason  to  do. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  no  one  of  these  four 
types,  nor  all  four  together,  nor  any  others 
that  might  be  given  a  place  in  the  category, 
represents,  in  any  general  sense,  the  Australian 
woman.  There  is  reason  for  believing  that 
most,  if  not  all  the  phases  of  activity  just 
mentioned,  together  with  others  that  might 
be  mentioned,  are  sublimely  insincere,  are 
magnificently  built  up  on  shams.  The  political 
woman  does  not  really  care  for  politics.  The 
aesthetic  woman  is  only  interested  in  the 
picturesque  side  of  aesthetics.  The  athletic 
girl  considers  fame  at  golf  or  lawn  tennis  as 
at  best  a  means  to  an  end.  The  lady  graduate 
is  not  in  love  with  her  degree.  The  woman 
has  not  yet  been  identified  who  can  lay  her 
hand  on  her  heart,  and  swear  that  the  study 


174  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

of  higher  mathematics,  or  even  a  profound 
analysis  of  the  Latin  poets,  is  an  altogether 
satisfying  pursuit.  The  age  is  one  of  experi- 
mentalism,  so  far  as  the  Australian  woman  is 
concerned.  She  is  attempting  many  things ; 
she  is  looking  for  new  interests  in  many 
directions  ;  she  has  taken  to  playing  several 
fresh  parts  ;  she  has  learned  quite  a  number 
of  new  tricks.  Yet  there  is  a  suspicion  that 
they  are  only  tricks  after  all. 

The  Australian  girl — with  the  accent  on  the 
definite  article  —  remains  yet  to  be  defined. 
Some  of  her  attributes,  or  accomplishments, 
or  phases  are  readily  enough  made  out,  but 
many  of  these  are  merely  incidental  modes  of 
the  moment ;  others  are  to  be  regarded  as 
streaks  of  colour  on  an  always  variegated 
landscape  ;  they  are  not  the  landscape  itself. 
We  know  well  enough  that  certain  things  will 
invariably  take  her  fancy.  A  love  of  dress, 
a  fondness  for  jewellery,  a  passion  for  display, 
a  taste  for  theatres,  a  tendency  to  gush,  a 
dislike  for  solitude,  a  mania  for  admiration — 
all  these  are  manifestations  that  are  continually 
meeting  the  eye  of  the  casual  observer.  But 
they  are  not  peculiar  to  the  Australian  woman, 


THE    ETERNAL   FEMININE  175 

or  to  the  sex  in  any  one  country.  And,  on  the 
other  hand,  there  are  discernment,  subtlety, 
artistic  sensibility,  grace  of  movement,  warmth 
of  temperament,  quickness  of  sympathy,  and 
much  else  that  could  be  mentioned.  These 
latter  qualities,  for  all  that  is  known  to  the 
contrary,  may  be  in  the  majority  of  cases  more 
outward  than  imvard.  That  is  to  say,  they 
may  be  dexterously  woven  into  the  garment 
for  purposes  of  effect.  In  any  case,  it  does 
not  matter.  If  the  resulting  product  can 
please  the  eye  and  satisfy  the  sense  it  is  foolish 
to  begin  raising  doubts  about  its  precise 
texture  or  its  wearing  capabilities. 

Womanhood,  per  se,  apart  from  incidental 
gifts  and  graces,  apart  from  what  it  can  do, 
and  cannot  do,  seems  to  be  a  curious  mixture  of 
practicality  and  sentiment ;  in  other  words,  of 
water  and  fire.  The  elements  are  so  blended 
that  nature  cannot  stand  up  and  say  with  con- 
fidence, This  is  a  woman.  There  is  nothing  a 
woman  dislikes  so  much  as  beino-  called  senti- 
mental ;  but  there  is  nothing  she  takes  to  so 
kindly  as  sentiment.  It  is  her  essence,  her 
metier,  a  part  of  the  air  she  breathes  ;  she 
repudiates   it   in  words,   but   acknowledges   it 


176  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

in  practice  every  day.  And  yet,  with  all  this 
extraordinary  sentiment,  with  all  this  drift 
towards  emotionalism,  the  Australian  girl 
combines  in  some  mysterious  and  inexplic- 
able fashion  a  singular  faculty  for  holding 
her  own,  and  a  marvellously  clear  eye  for 
the  main  chance.  In  the  vagaries  of  her 
wildest  mood  there  is  a  concealed  art  and  a 
sound  method.  In  the  whirlwind  of  her 
emotionalism  there  is  a  certain  immovable 
common-sense.  The  storm  may  blow  hither 
and  thither,  but  it  blows  on  sufferance.  The 
cold  Angel  of  reason,  with  the  ruling  rod  of 
prudence,  is  never  out  of  sight  and  hearing. 
To  understand  the  position  it  is  only  necessary 
to  recollect  that  the  Australian  girl,  albeit 
disinclined  by  temperament  to  hard  routine 
and  cold  formality,  has  been  instructed  from 
infancy  in  many  things  that  were  quite 
unknown  to  her  English  sister,  at  any  rate 
until  recent  years.  She  has  been  taught  to 
rely  much  upon  herself;  she  is  not  chaperoned 
and  she  is  not  shut  in.  Thus  it  is  that,  while 
she  is  artistically  susceptible  to  every  mode 
of  emotion,  she  will  not,  except  when  she  is 
under   the   age    of    seventeen,    throw    herself 


THE   ETERNAL   FEMININE  177 

recklessly  away  on  the  first  individual  who  is 
to  be  encountered  strolling  in  the  garden  of 
Romance ;  not  even  though  he  be  a  pleasant 
person  and  goodly  to  look  upon. 

For  the  reasons  just  stated  or  implied,  a  love 
affair  with  an  Australian  woman  is  usually  an 
interesting,  and  often  an  instructive,  experience. 
In  suggesting  for  his  bored  and  blase  King  of 
Ruritania  (or  some   such   place)   a  love  affair 
with  a  red-haired  woman,  Mr  Henry  Harland 
was    following     slavishly     in     the     tracts    of 
physiology.     But  that  kind  of  science  is  always 
unsatisfactory,  and,  more  often  than  not,  mis- 
leading.    The  woman  of  this   continent — Mr 
Harland    had    never   been  in  Australia — does 
not  require  red  hair  to  prove  an  antidote  for 
dulness.       Her     inborn    strain    of    sentiment 
makes  her  the  finest  of  natural  players  in  the 
game   of    hearts.     Her   marked    individuality 
and  abundance   of  common-sense    render   her 
anything   but  an  easy  bird  to  capture.     As  a 
matter  of  fact,  she  is  more  often  the  pursuer 
than  the  pursued.     If  she  sustains  a  reverse  in 
one  direction  she  recovers  it  in  another.     She 
does    not   stand    to   be   shot   at ;     she   has   a 
thousand    subterfuges,    a    thousand    weapons 

M 


178  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

both  of  defence  and  attack.  It  is  only  ex- 
perienced players  who  can  encounter  her  with 
safety.  The  crude  beginner  is  almost  certain 
to  sustain  damage,  if,  indeed,  he  is  not  battered 
out  of  recognisable  shape. 

It  is  the  histrionic  faculty  again.  The  more 
one  observes  it,  the  more  admirable  and  the 
more  dangerous  it  appears.  A  clever  woman 
talking  to  an  eligible  man  in  a  drawing-room 
— or  anywhere  else  for  that  matter — is  un- 
doubtedly the  noblest  work  of  art.  Observe 
how  her  own  individuality  and  her  own  ideas 
are  kept  in  the  background,  while  she  seems 
to  be  waiting  with  prettily  veiled  impatience 
for  the  words  of  wisdom  that  she  knows  are 
about  to  fall  from  the  man  she  is  talking  to. 
Observe  how  the  electric  light  has  a  habit 
of  falling  on  her  profile  every  now  and  then. 
Observe  how  on  occasion  it  lights  up  her  eyes. 
Observe  also  with  what  artless  art  she  will 
bend  forward  her  rapt  soul  in  her  eyes,  and 
again  lean  musingly  or  languorously  back. 
She  gives  the  man  every  opportunity.  If  he 
has  anything  to  say  she  flatters  him  by  wanting 
to  listen,  by  drinking  it  thirstily  in.  If  it 
becomes  evident  that  he  can't  talk,  or  wont 


THE   ETERNAL   FEMININE  179 

talk,  she  will  talk  for  him,  rally  him,  entertain 
him,  be  brilliant  for  him,  make  him  imagine 
that  he  is  brilliant  in  listening  to  her.  Glancing 
across  the  room,  we  wonder  why  she  does  it. 
We  don't  know  her  motive,  but  we  recognise 
that  the  man  isn't  worthy.  We  see  that  she 
is  wasting  her  time,  throwing  herself  away. 
She  should  be  talking  to  us.  We  should  be 
talking  to  her. 

"  Nature,"  said  a  well-known  painter  to  me 
only  the  other  week,  "is  hateful,  horrible;  it 
is  only  art  that  can  make  her  endurable."  He 
was  speaking  in  the  Melbourne  Gallery,  and  he 
pointed  to  a  picture  of  his — a  "Symphony,"  it 
was  called — which  he  had  given  away  for  a 
couple  of  hundred  pounds.  The  finished  work 
was  a  symphony  no  doubt ;  but  the  copied 
thing  was  to  any  but  the  artistic  eye  a  dull 
conglomeration  of  twig  and  leaf  and  timber. 
We  have  to  thank  this  painter  for  creating  out 
of  common  and  unattractive  material  a  feast 
of  colour  that  must  appeal  to  every  beholder. 
We  are  not  always  as  grateful  as  is  necessary 
to  the  individual  who  makes  himself  look  other 
— and  incidentally  better — than  he  really  is. 
The   world   is   full   of    intensely   natural   and 


i8o  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

intensely  uninteresting  people.  The  unrefined 
product  of  nature  when  presented  in  its  native 
shape  is  alarming  and  calculated  to  make  the 
beholder  flee  into  the  wilderness.  To  be 
natural  is  to  be  condemned.  Let  us  thank 
the  Australian  girl  for  the  fine  example,  for 
the  clear  lead  she  has  given.  Let  us 
endeavour  to  be  as  artificial,  as  histrionic  as 
we  can. 


IX 

TWO   CITIES 

Where,  O  Earth  !  is  a  fairer  city 

Than  this  by  night,  when  the  Quay's  half  circle  .  .  . 

Lights  the  dusk  of  the  city's  face  ? 

Miss  Mack's  verses  to  Sydney  are  the  kind 

of  tribute  one  would  wish  to  pay  to  a  lover  of 

happier  days.     For  that  reason  they  may  awake 

some    kind    of  echo   in   the    breasts    of  many 

hundreds    of  persons    who    will    confess    to   a 

fondness  for  Sydney,  but  who  are  indifferent 

to  the  ways  and  methods  of  the  lofty  rhyme. 

For  the  place  has  a  strong-  personality.     One 

never  thinks  of  it  as  merely  so  many  houses 

and  so  many  people.     An  entity,  a  living  thing, 

a  friend,  a  mistress,  a  consoler,  a  woman  with 

soft  breath  and  warm-tinted  hair,  a  queen  of 

men   and  yet  their  servant — it  is  any  or  all 

of  these,  and  much  besides. 

The    new-comer    should    arrange   to   enter 
i8i 


i82  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

Sydney  by  night.  If  he  does  this  he  will 
experience  the  strong  and  always  remembered 
sensation  of  emer^inof  from  Cimmerian  dark- 
ness  into  the  blaze  of  a  lighted  arena.  The 
waters  of  the  Tasman  sea  are  usually  cold 
and  stormy.  If  you  have  been  ploughing 
across  them  for  the  best  part  of  a  week,  if 
you  have  been  beset  with  bad  weather,  or 
sea-sickness,  or  boredom,  or  with  the  three 
combined,  you  will  hail  as  one  of  the  pleasant 
sounds  of  a  lifetime  the  news  that  there  is 
visible  a  glimmer  from  South  Head.  There- 
after the  transformation  is  rapid.  Sydney  by 
night  does  not  grow  upon  you  ;  it  bursts  upon 
you,  and  the  impression  is  not  soon  forgotten. 
Whatever  you  have  read  and  whatever  you 
have  dreamed  of  Eastern  cities  by  the  Tigris  ; 
whatever  you  have  seen  of  lime-light  effects 
on  a  brilliant,  gaily  coloured,  thronged  and 
animated  stage  ;  whatever  you  have  pictured 
to  yourself  of  islands  and  gardens  and  palaces 
by  the  water's  edge — all  these  and  more  are 
around  you  and  in  front  of  you  as  the  ship 
winds  past  promontory  after  promontory,  island 
after  island,  on  its  passage  towards  a  mooring 
place   in    Darling    Harbour.      The   panorama 


TWO   CITIES  183 

has  an  unreal  and  fairy-like  splendour.  For 
a  minute  or  two,  perhaps  for  half  an  hour, 
you  expect  that  everything  will  presently 
dissolve,  and  the  conditions  of  blackness  and 
vacancy  reassert  themselves.  But  the  boat 
passes  on,  and  the  picture  remains.  You 
realise  after  a  while  that  it  is  the  city  itself 
welcoming  you,  beckoning  to  you,  smiling  at 
you  with  all  its  arcs  and  crescents  and  its 
glittering  phantasmagoria  of  lights. 

In  the  daytime  all  this  is  changed.     Sydney 

by  day  is  the  real  Sydney,  the  working  Sydney, 

and  like  every  other  place  in  which  men  work 

and  congregate,  it  has  its  dull  and  drab  and 

depressing  features.     But  the  strangely  marked 

personal  characteristics  are  there  still.     They 

have  taken  on  new  phases,  and  they  make  a 

different  kind  of  appeal.     Your  mistress  has  no 

longer  the  sparkle  in  her  eyes  and  the  diamonds 

on  her  brow  ;  she  no  longer  scintillates  to  dazzle 

you,  and  no  longer  challenges  you  to  admiration 

by  her  life  and  movement.      She  has  grown 

languorous   as   the   land    of   the   lotos-flower, 

enervating  as  the  Island  of  Circe.     True,  she 

has  her  marts  and  her  merchandise,  her  busy 

streets,   her   ships,   and  her   people   who   toil 


i84  THE    REAL  AUSTRALIA 

and  spin.  But  they  are  a  people  on  whom 
she  has  set  her  imprint,  and  who  have  drunk 
the  wine  of  love  and  of  laughter  at  her  hands. 
The  fact  is  that  neither  by  day  nor  by  night, 
neither  in  summer  nor  winter,  can  Sydney  look 
consistently  hard  or  repellant.  Now  and  then 
a  bracing  wind  blows  up  from  the  waste  places 
of  the  Pacific  and  talks  menacingly  of  storm 
and  stress  and  shipwreck.  But  it  loses  itself 
or  dies  to  nothing  when  in  the  heart  of  the 
city,  or  when  endeavouring  to  make  its  way 
along  such  good  -  tempered,  well  -  protected 
thoroughfares  as  George  and  Pitt  Streets. 
Sometimes  it  rains,  sometimes  it  blusters  a 
little,  but  only  with  an  amusing  semblance 
of  anger.  In  an  hour  or  two  the  sun  is  shining 
again. 

A  city  that  has  grown  has  always  an 
advantage,  in  point  of  attractiveness,  over 
one  that  has  been  merely  made.  It  is  easy 
to  understand  the  reason.  No  one  cares  for 
the  display  of  qualities  that  seem  to  be  the 
result  of  artificial  training.  Every  one  admires 
spontaneity,  or  rather  the  appearance  of 
spontaneity.  The  thing  itself  may  be  a 
product  of  the  finest   art.       But  that   matters 


TWO   CITIES  185 

nothing.  As  it  is  with  individuals,  so  it  is 
with  a  city.  The  straight,  uncompromising 
lines  which  appeal  to  the  draughtsman  are  of 
interest  to  no  one  else.  It  is  a  mistake  to 
cultivate  a  prim  demeanour  or  to  attempt  to 
keep  a  straight  face  if  Nature  has  in  view 
something  else.  The  friend  who  keeps  calling 
"Duty,  duty,  duty"  in  your  ear  is  not  really 
wise,  and  is  always  certain  to  be  disliked. 
Equally  tedious  is  the  architect,  or  the  surveyor, 
or  the  mathematician,  who  says  dogmatic- 
ally that  certain  streets  should  always  meet 
at  such  and  such  an  angle ;  that  there  should 
be  certain  spaces  for  parks  and  certain  widths 
reserved  for  traffic ;  that  there  should  be 
buildings  modelled  on  particular  lines,  and 
conglomerations  of  houses  arranged  after  a 
particular  fashion ;  that  there  should  be  a 
scientific  method  observed  in  building  the  thing 
to  be  called  a  city,  just  as  there  are  particular 
rules  for  turning  out  a  baker's  oven  or  for 
making  a  carpenter's  box. 

Sydney,  as  it  does  not  take  long  to  discover, 
has  grown  up  after  a  careless  and  wilful  fashion 
of  its  own.  It  is  neither  consciously  straight, 
nor  consciously  irregular.     Of  modern  improve- 


186  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

ments  it  takes  what  it  pleases,  and  leaves  what 
it  does  not  want.     Buildings  cluster  round  the 
harbour  and  bedeck  themselves  with  red-tiled 
roofs  and  flaunt  their  pleasant  inertia  in  the 
sun.     Some    of  the  more  recent  structures — 
hotels,    warehouses,    public    markets    and    the 
like — are   showy   and  even  magnificent.     But 
the  main  streets  make  no  pretence  to  symmetry 
or  modernity,  and  are  strongly  reminiscent  in 
their   narrowness    and   grime    of    second  and 
third-rate  towns  in  France  and  England.     The 
resemblance  would   be  more   striking  did   not 
Australia   lack   the    pointed,    old-world   archi- 
tecture   that    gives    historic    quaintness     and 
interest  even  to  the  dirtier  and  more  tumble- 
down villages  of  Europe.     Sydney  is  suspicious 
of  new  inventions,  and  would  prefer  that  the 
disturbing,    scientific   spirit  of  the  age  left  it 
alone.     Until  lately  it  knew  of  no  better  means 
of  locomotion  than  its  steam  trams.     It  is  only 
within  the  last  year  or  two  that  it  has  had  its 
electric  cars.     The  energy  with   which    these 
gigantic  structures  rush  to  and  fro  and  disturb 
traffic  is  quite  out  of  keeping  with  the  atmo- 
sphere  of  the    place.      There    are   numerous 


TWO  CITIES  187 

accidents,  because  so  many  of  the  Sydneyites 
have  not  the  energy  to  get  out  of  the  way. 

The  people,  as  a  rule,  are  not  ambitious. 
They  have  not  the  restless  unquiet  tempera- 
ment associated  with  the  Anglo-Saxon  race 
in  other  and  less  pleasant  parts  of  the  globe. 
For  that  reason  they  are  often  excellent  com- 
panions. They  know  how  to  enjoy  life,  and 
they  are  willing  to  share  their  knowledge 
with  the  stranger.  They  have  no  cast- 
iron  formulas,  either  of  etiquette  or  of  morals. 
They  have  not  yet  succeeded  in  reducing 
orthodoxy  to  a  fine  art.  It  matters  com- 
paratively little  to  them,  before  or  after  they 
have  made  your  acquaintance,  whether  your 
education  was  finished  at  Oxford  or  in  Lower 
George  Street,  whether  your  father  was  a 
pawnbroker  or  an  admiral,  whether  your 
nearest  relations  keep  a  grocer's  shop,  or  are 
something  connected  with  the  Established 
Church.  Are  you  an  agreeable  person  ? 
Have  you  a  pleasant  humour  ?  Do  you  know 
how  to  make  life  entertaining?  Can  you  help 
others  to  pass  the  time  ?  If  the  answer  to  any 
of  these  questions  is  in  the  affirmative,  the 
gates  of  many  desirable  places  will  be  thrown 


i88  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

open  to  you.  You  will  be  allowed  to  tread 
the  primrose  path  to  the  music  of  lutes,  to  the 
sound  of  soft  voices,  to  the  rustle  of  silk  and 
satin  embroideries,  to  the  rhythm  of  Govern- 
ment House  waltzes,  to  the  popping  of  Vice- 
regal champagne.  The  possession  of  wealth 
is  an  advantage,  but  it  is  not  indispensable. 
The  Sydney  creditor  is  as  accommodating  as 
most  creditors.  Even  this  class  is  not 
absolutely  proof  against  the  influence  of 
climate  and  surrounding-s. 

Among  the  men  who  do  the  mental  work 
of  Sydney — the  writers,  the  scholars,  the 
financiers,  the  preachers,  the  politicians,  the 
social  reformers,  and  the  rest — you  find  this 
lack  of  ambition  and  of  sustained  effort 
particularly  noticeable.  A  degree  of  ability 
is  common  enough.  But  it  is  not  husbanded 
and  utilised  with  that  fierce  concentration  of 
purpose  which  marks  the  North  of  England 
man  when  he  packs  his  bag  for  London,  or 
the  Western  American  when  he  sets  out  for 
New  York.  The  journalism  of  Sydney  is 
intermittently  clever,  sometimes  brilliant,  never 
consistently  good.  It  may  be  that  a  man  has 
a   vein    of    humour,    a    descriptive    faculty,    a 


TWO   CITIES  189 

sense  of  colour  in  words.  It  is  little  use  telling 
this  man  that  if  he  works  and  waits,  and  waits 
and  works — if  he  denies  himself  the  cheap 
laurels  of  newspaper  favour,  and  the  thin 
rewards  of  journalistic  achievement — he  may 
ultimately  win  a  place  in  the  inner  circle  of 
approved  and  recognised  authorship.  He 
knows  that  he  can  get  a  guinea  for  a  couple 
of  hours'  application.  What  is  the  advantage, 
then,  of  going  elsewhere  ?  A  guinea  is  a 
guinea ;  and  Sydney  is  an  excellent  place  in 
which  to  spend  it.  Thus  he  reasons  in  act, 
if  not  in  words.  The  consequence  is  that  the 
intellectual  tone  of  the  city,  as  set  by  the 
writers  and  thinkers,  is  for  the  most  part  a 
blend  of  opportunism  and  of  laisser  faire.  If 
you  want  to  learn  something,  if  you  want  an 
incentive  to  act,  if  you  want  to  live  the 
strenuous  life,  you  must  leave  Sydney  and 
go  somewhere  else. 

The  women  of  Sydney  are  in  a  class  by 
themselves.  They  are  as  distinctive  in  their 
way  as  the  city  in  which  they  live  is  distinctive 
in  its  way.  There  is  little  doubt  that  in  a 
measure  they  obtain  their  character  from  the 
place,  though    it   is  also  true  that  they  assist 


I90  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

to  give  the  place  its  character.  To  think  of 
them,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  is  to  conjure 
up  pleasant  memories.  There  is  reason  to 
believe  that  the  Cytherea  of  the  ancient 
Greeks  was  born  in  Sydney,  or  at  least  lived 
there  in  prehistoric  days,  long  before  settle- 
ment crowded  the  approaches  to  the  harbour, 
long  before  Governor  Philip  sighted  the  Heads, 
long  before  the  country  knew  anything  of 
modern  habitations,  and  while  it  still  slumbered 
in  the  embraces  of  the  Golden  Age.  The 
waters  still  smile  when  they  remember  the 
vision  that  once  rose  from  them ;  and  to  this 
day  they  impart  something  of  the  warmth  and 
colour  of  the  foam-born  Aphrodite  to  the 
women  who  dwell  by  their  fringing  shores. 
Not  that  the  daughters  of  Sydney  are  classical, 
or  Grecian,  or  faultless  in  form  and  feature. 
The  symmetry  of  the  marble  statue  is  no  part 
of  their  equipment.  They  are  deficient,  for 
the  most  part,  in  correct  outlines.  Such  charm 
as  is  theirs  is  mainly  the  result  of  manner, 
of  temperament,  of  suggestion,  of  look. 
They  convey  the  impression  that  their 
sympathies  would  not  soon  be  alienated,  that 
their   welcome   would    never    be   ungenerous, 


TWO   CITIES  191 

that   they   could,    if    they    wished,    make    of 
existence  a  pleasant  thing. 

The  character  of  the  people  has  been  a 
subject  for  uneasy  speculation.  It  is  darkly 
hinted  that  the  city  is  a  refuge  ground  for 
many  strange  sins.  The  majority  of  the 
residents  do  not  trouble  about  these  matters. 
But  there  are  a  few  estimable  people  who  do. 
The  women  belonging  to  the  W.C.T. U.,  and 
the  I.O.G.T.,  and  the  I.O.R.,  and  the  rest  of 
the  alphabet  devoted  to  temperance  and  the 
higher  life,  work  consistently  hard.  In  their 
display  of  zeal  they  almost  make  up  what  they 
lack  in  numbers.  They  are  troubled  voices 
calling  in  a  moral  wilderness,  but  they  do  not 
despair.  They  have  one  friend  and  confidant 
— the  Colonial  Secretary  for  the  time  being. 
The  tales  of  depravity  that  are  poured  into  the 
ears  of  this  patient  individual  each  month 
would  fill  many  volumes.  His  official  life  is 
a  round  of  dreadful  discoveries.  He  begins  his 
Ministerial  career  a  cheerful  optimist,  and  ends 
it  with  every  vestige  of  illusion  gone.  Virtuous 
and  estimable  women  belonging  to  every 
reforming  agency  in  the  metropolis  are  con- 
stantly at  his  elbow,  are  constantly  telling  him 


192  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

of  fresh  detachments  of  young  children  found 
In  opium  dens,  of  fresh  batches  of  drunkards 
picked  up  in  the  gutter,  of  new  contingents  of 
women  discovered  on  the  street.  The  Colonial 
Secretary  is  asked,  entreated,  and  commanded 
to  do  something.  Exactly  what  it  is  his 
auditors  do  not  know,  but  something,  he  is 
told,  must  be  done.  The  unhappy  man  listens, 
shudders,  sympathises,  and  protests  that  he 
is  passionately  grateful  to  the  earnest  women 
who  have  thought  fit  to  lighten  his  mental 
darkness.  He  agrees  that  something  must  be 
done,  and  knows  in  his  heart  of  hearts  that 
nothing  can  be  done.  Meantime  the  social 
life  of  Sydney  goes  on,  and  the  place,  with  its 
agreeable  men  and  graceful  women,  is  a 
place  to  be  desired  and  pleasant  to  the  eyes. 
It  is  always  pleasant — pleasant  to  linger 
in,  pleasant  to  look  forward  to,  pleasant  to 
look  back  upon.  Not  very  intellectual,  not 
very  strenuous,  not  very  inspiring,  it  has  all 
the  aids  to  enjoyment  that  have  been  dis- 
covered in  the  last  twenty  centuries,  and  all 
the  ingenious  devices  that  have  ever  been 
invented  to  make  time  pass.  A  city  that  has 
from  its  birth  been  cradled  in  soft  airs ;  a  city 


TWO   CITIES  193 

that  spreads  against  the  storm  and  stress  of 
dissatisfied  ambition,  the  protection  of  mild 
and  lulling  wings ;  a  city  intended  by  Nature 
to  please  the  artist  and  bring  the  practical 
man  relief  and  rest ;  a  city  that  rescues 
humanity  from  the  stern  and  unlovely  asceticism 
of  a  gray  and  narrow  school ;  a  city  that  is 
indifferent  to  morals,  and  cares  for  religion  only 
on  the  picturesque  side ;  a  city  that  holds 
always  with  the  Persian  poet  and  tells  its 
people  to  enjoy  themselves,  for  to-morrow  they 
may  be  with  yesterday's  seven  thousand  years. 
To  leave  Sydney  and  to  go  to  Melbourne  is 
to  enter  a  new  world.  Instead  of  resemblances 
there  are  contrasts.  In  place  of  Australianisms 
there  are  Anglicanisms,  Americanisms,  and 
foreiofn  "isms"  of  various  kinds.  Climate 
may  have  something  to  do  with  the  difference, 
and  topographical  conditions  may  have  some- 
thing more.  The  reception  that  Sydney  gives 
you  is  that  of  a  woman  in  a  luxurious  room, 
with  soft  lights  falling  on  rich  curtain  hangings, 
with  glitter  of  glass  and  silver  ornament,  with 
lavish  display  of  elegance  and  outward  charm. 
The  woman  rises  seductively,  looks  at  you 
languorously  and  invites  you,  not  so  much  by 


N 


194  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

word  as  by  gesture,  to  make  yourself  at 
home.  It  is  delightful ;  but  yet  there  is 
something  wanting.  The  reflection  comes 
that  you  are  not  being  specially  favoured ; 
that  this  is  the  manner  of  the  hostess  to  all 
and  sundry ;  that  there  may  be  something 
unhealthy  in  this  mellifluous  atmosphere ;  that 
the  smile  of  welcome  is  less  that  of  the  friend 
than  that  of  the  courtesan.  The  reception  you 
get  from  Melbourne  is  of  quite  another 
character.  The  woman  this  time  is  cold  and 
calm,  and  superbly  indifferent.  If  she  seems 
to  smile  it  is  probably  the  reflection  of  your 
own  hopefulness.  She  offers  you  nothing ; 
she  barely  acknowledges  you ;  she  does  not 
want  you  ;  it  is  certain  that  she  is  not  anxious 
to  know  you.  All  her  panoply  of  architectural 
ornament  is  arrayed  against  you.  And  yet  the 
thought  superv^enes  that  this  cold  woman  may 
be  better  worth  knowing  in  the  end  than  the 
other  one  ;  that  her  harder  outlines  may  conceal 
a  more  genuine  worth  ;  that  her  good  opinion 
may  be  better  worth  striving  for  than  that  of 
the  other — the  one  with  the  redder  lips,  and 
the  flaunting,  unchanging  smile. 

But  the  wide  streets  and  the  flat  unoccupied 


TWO   CITIES  195 

spaces  of  Melbourne  are  an  outward  semblance 
calculated  to  strike  the  newcomer  with  a 
shuddering  sense  of  chill  and  desolation. 
More  especially  if  they  are  encountered  for 
the  first  time  on  a  winter's  afternoon.  For 
the  winter  that  merely  dallies  and  trifles  in 
Sydney,  and  makes  but  a  pretence  of  bringing 
with  it  cold  weather,  is  genuine  in  the  Southern 
city.  There  is  no  bleaker  thoroughfare  on 
earth  than  Collins  Street  or  Burke  Street  on 
a  blustering  July  day.  From  Spring  Street 
to  the  railway  station  there  is  a  clear,  unbroken 
passage  for  the  Arctic  wind.  The  occasional 
tramcar  and  the  infrequent  pedestrian  are 
cheerless  objects  around  which  the  Sou'- 
Wester  disports  itself,  seeking  always,  in 
return  for  some  ancient  grievance,  a  grim 
and  unnecessary  revenge.  If  the  day  happens 
to  be  a  Saturday,  or  a  public  holiday,  the  out- 
look is  rendered  ten  times  more  dismal  by  the 
deathly  appearance  of  the  streets,  from  which 
all  but  an  unreal  semblance  of  life  and  move- 
ment has  departed.  A  wilderness  of  grim- 
looking  window  shutters,  and  a  Sahara  of 
pavement — that  is  all.  The  wind  drives  the 
dust  in  front  of  it,  then  follows  on  shriekingly. 


196  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

When  it  has  finished  playing  with  the  dust 
it  brings  in  the  rain.  And  Melbourne,  with 
its  wide,  shelterless  streets  swept  from  end  to 
end  by  a  rain-storm —  Melbourne  with  its  blank 
spaces  and  its  vanished  crowds — is  the  one 
place  on  earth  where  the  new  arrival  would 
choose  not  to  be. 

But  this  appearance  and  mannerism  of  the 
Queen  city — it  clings  to  the  name,  though  the 
boom  era  which  gave  the  name  a  meaning  has 
departed — must  be  lived  through,  and  lived 
down.  Presently  the  sun  will  shine  again. 
Presently  the  holiday  will  be  over ;  and  the 
people  who  have  been  abroad  in  the  suburbs, 
or  cultivating  their  garden  patches,  or  hiding 
themselves  in  their  own  houses,  will  be  once 
more  visible,  and  the  pavement  will  once  more 
echo  to  the  sound  of  feet.  By  a  seeming 
miracle  the  streets  have  become  almost  full. 
Melbourne  has  become  an  intelligible  place 
to  live  in.  The  shops,  now  that  the  window 
shutters  are  down,  are  seen  to  be  beautifully 
fitted  up.  The  buildings  are  for  the  most 
part  new,  and  they  are  never  grimy.  One 
remembers  that  in  the  heart  of  Sydney  there 
are  pervading  evidences  of  smoke  and  grime. 


TWO   CITIES  197 

One  must  give  Melbourne  its  due.  It  has 
something  to  boast  about.  It  has  been 
magnificently  laid  out.  Its  measurements  are 
on  a  generous  scale.  It  is  fine  and  large  and 
bracing.  One  forgets  the  chill  sensation  left 
by  those  deserted  streets  and  those  grim-look- 
ing window  shutters.  The  Block  has  become 
a  centre  of  bustle  and  animation.  Again  the 
thought  presents  itself  that  this  place  may 
have  a  heart  of  its  own,  that  it  may  have  a 
personality,  even  a  warmth,  concealed  behind 
those  set  features  and  those  formal  lines. 

Further  acquaintance  with  Melbourne  in- 
creases the  respect  felt  for  it.  One  gets  to 
like  it  for  the  same  reason  that  the  Londoner 
gets  to  like  London.  It  is  not  a  question  of 
beauty,  or  simplicity,  or  gentleness  of  form 
and  feature.  One  gets  to  like  it  because  of 
its  greatness,  and  because  of  its  strength ; 
perhaps  also,  in  the  case  of  the  older 
residents,  because  of  the  thought  of  the 
splendid  life  and  animation  that  were  part  of 
it  fifteen  or  twenty  years  ago,  and  that  may  be 
part  of  it  again.  The  Melbourne  man,  after 
a  certain  lapse  of  time,  acquires  a  personal 
feeling  for  his  self-contained,  self-respecting 


igS  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

city.  He  learns  to  recognise  its  various  moods 
— for  even  Melbourne  has  moods  —  and  to 
enter  into  them  all.  He  would  not  care  for 
it  if  it  were  flashy  and  volatile  like  other 
places.  He  can  admire  it  for  its  reserve  and 
its  silences.  He  knows  that,  go  where  he 
will,  he  will  not  find  a  cleaner,  wider,  more 
spacious  city  to  dwell  in.  And  he  is  fully 
aware  that  for  him  Melbourne  reveals  much 
of  what  she  keeps  hidden  from  the  stranger ; 
that  she  will  show  to  him  as  to  one  of  her 
lovers  a  warmth  and  friendliness  that  are  the 
more  satisfying  because  not  universally  shared. 
Commercially,  Melbourne  is  not  what  it  used 
to  be.  It  has  lost  the  sparkle,  the  animation 
of  other  days.  Yet,  whatever  else  it  has  lost, 
it  has  retained  its  consciousness  of  former 
prosperity.  It  is  as  proud  as  ever;  in  fact 
more  proud  than  in  the  days  when  people 
were  pouring  into  it  by  thousands,  and  when 
fortunes  were  being  made  every  five  minutes  in 
its  principal  streets.  Diminished  prosperity 
has  caused  it  to  hold  its  head  higher.  And 
at  stated  times,  like  some  proud  but 
impecunious  beauty,  it  insists  on  recalling 
itself    to    the   mind   of  the   world.     On    Cup 


TWO   CITIES  199 

Days  and  fete  clays  it  scores  a  triumph:  it 
arrays  itself  In  the  festal  garment  of  the  early 
'nineties,  and  queens  it  to  the  admiration  of 
the  stranger  within  its  gates.  On  these 
occasions  Melbourne  is  incomparable.  It  has 
no  need  to  be  envious,  because  it  is  the 
admired  of  all  admirers.  When  the  cheering 
is  over,  and  the  crowds  have  departed,  and 
the  lights  are  being  put  out,  Melbourne 
retires  moodily  into  itself,  goes  about  its 
daily  business  with  an  abstracted  air,  and 
consoles  itself  intermittently  by  talking  of 
the  long  deferred  prosperity  which  it  insists 
must  come. 

For  if  the  place  fails  in  this  or  in  that 
respect,  it  never  fails  to  keep  its  expectations 
high.  It  has  been  doing  this  for  the  past 
dozen  years  or  more.  It  has  long  outgrown 
its  happy-go-lucky,  red-shirted,  soft-collared, 
mining,  pioneering  days.  It  has  no  wish  to 
recall  these  outward  symbols  of  an  earlier  and 
a  vanished  generation.  With  the  memory  of 
many  losses  and  many  disappointments,  there 
is  still  the  determination  to  put  the  best  face 
on  everything.  Though  the  crowds  no  longer 
hum  and  vibrate  round  its  chief  thoroughfares, 


200  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

it  retains  its  streets  and  its  houses,  its  spacious 
theatres  and  commodious  public  buildings ;  its 
magnificent  Houses  of  Parliament,  its  squares 
and  gardens,  its  network  of  railways  and  tram 
lines,  its  villa  residences  at  St  Kilda  and  its 
mansions  at  Toorak.  The  outward  shell  of 
things  is  still  there.  Every  now  and  then 
there  is  a  sign  of  movement,  an  agitation  as 
of  returning  life.  The  people  are  convinced 
that  something  is  going  to  happen.  The 
period  of  depression,  they  say,  cannot  last 
for  ever.  In  imagination  they  can  see  the 
Golden  Days  ever  returning. 

Meantime,  the  business  of  keeping  up 
appearances  goes  on.  Melbourne  has  become 
accustomed,  through  sheer  force  of  insistence 
on  its  individual  merits,  to  regard  itself  as 
everything  that  a  modern  city  ought  to  be, 
and  as  most  things  that  other  cities  are  not. 
It  prides  itself  on  a  great  deal — on  its  music, 
its  art,  its  culture,  its  architecture,  its  good 
looks,  and  its  intelligence.  In  the  matter  of 
dress  it  aspires  to  set  the  fashion  for  Australia. 
Men  and  women  join  in  this  amiable  rivalry. 
The  girl  of  the  Victorian  capital  is  more 
severe    in   demeanour,    more   classic   in  pose, 


TWO   CITIES  201 

and    more    punctilious     in    attire     than     her 
Sydney     sister.       She     takes     herself     more 
seriously.       She    has    few    neglige     airs    and 
graces ;     she     does     not     cultivate    the    irre- 
sponsible   freedom    of    the     gown    of    Nora 
Creina ;  she  arrays  herself  for  the  Block  with 
a   firm   resolve  to  compel  critical  admiration. 
And    in    this    she    generally    succeeds.     The 
men  of  Melbourne  live  in  starched  shirts  and 
expensive  broadcloth.     They  cling  tenaciously 
to  that  fading  relic  of  aq  earlier  civilisation — 
the   bell-topper   hat.       Social    life  in    the    city 
would     be     impossible     without     one.       The 
Universities  keep  up  their  quota  of  students, 
whether  the  parents  can  afford  to  pay  or  not. 
The   theatres   can   attract   audiences  even  for 
a    performance   of  Wagner,    or    a   revival    of 
Shakespeare.     The  city  fathers  set  an  example 
of    dignity    to    the    rest    of    Australia.      The 
politicians  rarely  call  each  other   bad   names, 
and  never  indulge  in  free  fights    on  the  floor 
of  Parliament. 

Behind  all  this  outward  seeming  there  is,  it 
need  hardly  be  said,  a  great  amount  of  make- 
believe.  Melbourne  is  only  the  temporary 
capital   of  the    Commonwealth,  but  it   is   the 


202  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

permanent  centre  of — to  use  an  ecclesiastically 
sounding  word — attitudinarianism.  Its  mental 
life  is  more  the  expression  of  a  desire  to 
be  thought  superior  to  others  than  the  out- 
come of  any  set  of  inborn  predilections.  Its 
intellectuality  has  the  motto  videri  quam  esse. 
There  is  not  one  of  its  learned  pundits  or  its 
litterateurs  or  its  native  born  poets  who  has 
won  much  outside  reputation.  Its  scrupulous 
regard  for  dress  is  the  screen  for  much  actual 
poverty.  Its  vaunted  cosmopolitanism  has  no 
real  existence.  Its  social  circle  is,  only  too 
often,  the  playground  of  snobs.  Its  professed 
public  virtue  deceives  no  one.  In  Sydney 
the  spectacle  of  vice  undraped,  and  of  Lais 
plying  her  profession  in  the  public  streets, 
is  more  insistent  and  more  familiar.  But  in 
Melbourne  there  is  as  much  for  the  Women's 
Christian  Temperance  Union  to  grieve  over, 
though  there  may  be  less  that  meets  the 
casual  eye. 

When  the  last  word  has  been  said  on  the 
subject  —  when  it  has  been  admitted  that 
Melbourne  pretends  a  great  deal  and  poses 
a  great  deal,  and  hides  a  great  deal — it  is 
yet   a   fact   that    the    city    retains    among    its 


TWO   CITIES  203 

people  much  of  sterling  worth,  and  many  of 
the  elements  of  greatness.  From  the  army 
of  those  who  are  not  what  they  claim  to 
be,  or  not  what  they  would  have  you  think 
them  to  be,  may  be  picked  out  a  leaven  of 
those  who  are  entitled  to  respect,  and  perhaps 
to  something  more.  Alert,  quick-witted,  well- 
read,  well-mannered,  tolerant,  and  scrupulously 
fair — that  is  the  type  which  may  be  encountered 
if  the  search  is  keen  enough.  Hereafter,  this 
type  may  set  the  standard.  At  present,  all 
that  can  be  said  of  it  is  that  it  is  there. 

The  fact  must  always  stand  to  the  credit 
of  Melbourne  that  it  is  capable  of  generous 
enthusiasms.  When  it  lets  itself  go,  it  does 
so  without  reserve.  Carlyle  has  remarked  that 
a  man  who  can  laugh  unrestrainedly,  even  if 
he  only  laughs  once,  is  not  wholly  bad.  A 
city  that  can  cheer  unitedly  and  unreservedly, 
whether  for  a  singer,  an  orator,  an  actor,  or 
a  returned  contingent,  has  at  least  some 
prospect  of  emerging  from  the  wilderness  of 
shams  in  which  it  happens  to  be  located. 
Melbourne  rises  to  greatness  the  moment  it 
forgets  itself. 


X 

THE    NOVELIST 
AND    HIS   SELECTION 

Some  are  born  great,  some  achieve 
greatness,  and  some  have  greatness 
thrust  upon  them. — Malvolio  in  Twelfth  Night. 

He  is  a  remarkable  figure.  It  has  remained 
for  Australia  to  produce  him,  and  he  is  peculiar 
to  Australia.  He  stands  now  in  the  full  blaze 
of  the  limelight.  It  has  been  centred  on  him 
for  the  past  couple  of  years  or  more,  but  the 
operator  has  not  thought  it  necessary  to  move 
the  screen,  and  the  audience,  for  its  part,  is  quite 
satisfied.  Business  is  keeping  up  splendidly. 
There  are  some  who  say  that  a  prophet,  and 
especially  a  literary  prophet,  must  be  without 
honour  in  his  own  country.  True  as  the 
statement  is  in  the  main,  there  are  occasional 
exceptions.  One  of  these  is  furnished  by 
the  young  man  in  the  shirt  sleeves  and  the 
riding    breeches,    the    young    man    with    the 

resolutely  modest  expression  on  his  features, 

204 


NOVELIST   AND   HIS   SELECTION   205 

the  young  man  who  has  been  photographed 
and  paragraphed  throughout  the  continent.  He 
is  a  man  of  much  talent.  English  Punch 
and  Sydney  Bulletin  both  say  so.  Sir 
John  Madden  declares  that  a  copy  of  one 
of  his  books  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every 
boy  and  girl  in  the  Commonwealth.  That 
should  be  enough.  Let  us,  therefore,  sing 
Viva !  Let  us  sing  it  unitedly,  for  the  winter 
of  our  literary  darkness  is  passing,  nay,  has 
passed  away. 

Every  one  is  aware  by  this  time  that  Mr 
"  Rudd "  writes  about  the  back-blocks  of 
Australia.  He  has  discovered  them.  In 
fact,  he  has  almost  invented  them.  What 
a  region  it  is !  To  the  casual  observer  it 
may  lack  something  in  variety  of  scenery, 
in  charm  of  association,  in  human  interest. 
But  then  the  casual  observer  is  not  one  who 
need  be  taken  seriously.  Still  less  is  he 
one  whose  opinion  on  literary  matters  is  of 
much  value.  In  this  interior  region  of  the 
great  Southern  continent  there  are  shingle 
huts,  and  wire  fences,  and  occasional  gum- 
trees,  and  the  dry  beds  of  creeks,  and  the 
thin    crops    struggling    above    the   surface   of 


2o6  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

the  ground,  and,  for  the  rest,  a  flat  monotony 
of  desolation.  For  human  interest  there  is  an 
occasional  sun-browned,  dirt-begrimed  settler, 
an  occasional  ragged  and  vacant-faced  youth, 
an  occasional  dull  -  eyed,  but  stout  -  hearted 
woman.  These  people  are  part  of  the  life 
of  the  nation,  and  it  is  instructive  to  read 
about  them.  In  "Steele  Rudd's  "  pages  they 
have  their  exits  and  their  entrances,  their 
humorous,  tragical,  quaint,  fantastic,  sordid, 
and  pathetic  phases.  The  novelist  has  done 
them  every  justice.  So  much  justice  has  he 
done  them,  that  they  have  come,  in  a  manner 
of  speaking,  to  obscure  the  horizon.  Three 
books  have  been  written  about  them,  and 
the  reading  public  is  not  yet  satisfied.  It 
is  still — or  was  a  few  months  ago — clamouring 
for  more ;  it  will  take  as  much  more  as  the 
author  cares  to  give. 

It  is  admitted  that  "Steele  Rudd "  has 
done  a  great  thing ;  but  it  may  still  be  asked 
whether  it  is  possible  to  praise  a  local  writer 
sanely  and  temperately,  without  going  into 
ecstasies  about  him,  without  making  both  him- 
self and  ourselves  look  ridiculous.  Is  there 
only  one  man  in  Australia  whose  books  are 


NOVELIST   AND   HIS   SELECTION   207 

worth  purchasing  ?  Has  the  city  Hfe,  the 
business  Hfe.  the  artistic  life,  the  ambitious 
life,  the  intense  social  and  political  life  of 
civilised  Australia  nothing  to  say  for  itself? 
Must  we  reserve  all  our  superlatives,  all  our 
limelight,  and  all  our  hard  cash  for  this  writer 
who  keeps  telling  us,  with  persistent  and 
applauded  iteration,  about  the  shingle  hut 
and  the  awful  wire  fence,  and  the  frightfully 
monotonous  prospect  of  ragged  selector  and 
sunburnt  plain  ?  What  of  our  million  and  a 
half  city  residents  ?  What  of  the  light  and 
the  love  and  the  laughter  of  Collins  Street 
and  Circular  Quay?  Is  it  not  a  fact  that  these 
have  been  crowded  out,  unfairly  crowded  out, 
of  the  canvas?  It  is  no  wonder  that  out- 
siders call  us  parochial.  It  is  no  wonder  that 
they  say  we  are  lacking  in  perspective.  It  is 
no  wonder  that,  when  we  go  to  London,  they 
judge  us  by  our  odd  pieces  of  £-en7^e -painting, 
and  tell  us  that  there  is  no  market  for  that 
sort  of  thing  in  the  metropolis — that  we  had 
better  have  stayed  at  home. 

It  is  astonishing  how  few  people,  even  of 
those  who  have  lived  in  Australia  all  their 
lives,  have  succeeded  in  discovering  Australia. 


2o8  THE    REAL  AUSTRALIA 

It  gives  one  almost  a  shock  to  reflect  upon 
the  amount  of  misconception  that  has  been 
spread  throughout  two  hemispheres  by  Mr 
A.  B.  Paterson,  Mr  Henry  Lawson,  Mr 
"Rudd,"  and  one  or  two  others.  Incredible 
as  it  seems,  it  is  yet  a  fact  that  there  are 
several  varieties  of  soil  and  climate  to  be  met 
with  in  this  benighted  part  of  the  world.  A 
man  may  take  himself  out  of  sight  of  the  sea- 
coast,  he  may  even  settle  on  the  land,  and 
yet  have  no  experiences  of  drought,  of  dust- 
storms,  of  dry  creek  beds,  or  of  thermometers  at 
120°  in  the  shade.  He  may  even  find  that  the 
weird  melancholy  of  his  place  of  abode  has 
to  be  manufactured  out  of  his  own  imagina- 
tion. In  one  part  of  the  continent,  and  that 
a  part  getting  well  up  towards  the  Equator, 
there  are  the  Darling  Downs,  which  are  neither 
jY^Q^otonously  melancholy  nor  afflicted  with 
recurrt''^^  drought.  And  at  the  opposite  end 
of  the  continent,  in  the  south  of  Western 
Australia!  there  are  magnificent  forests  of 
karri  ana  '^^^'^-h.  a-  soil  capable  of  luxuriant 
p-rowth  a  hundred  thousand  square  miles  of 
rain-fed  lar^*^  waiting  for  the  plough.  In  the 
western    d^^^^^*-^   ^^   Victoria    is   to   be   found 


NOVELIST   AND   HIS   SELECTION   209 

the  Southern  home  of  English  grasses,  of 
European  cereals,  and  of  leafy  trees.  Another 
land  of  streams  and  of  fertile  country  stretches 
south  from  Port  Jackson  to  Twofold  Bay. 
Within  a  couple  of  hours'  train  ride  of  Sydney 
there  is  the  western  mountainous  district,  than 
which  there  is  no  finer  tourist  ground  in  this 
or  in  any  other  continent.  When  will  some 
one  write  for  us  the  romance  of  the  jarrah 
and  the  karri  forest?  When  shall  we  hear, 
as  a  change  from  the  foreign  sentiment  of  the 
Tyrolean  Alps,  the  love  story  of  Katoomba  and 
of  the  Blue  Mountains?  Is  there  ever  going 
to  be  an  Australian  Hardy  to  make  lifelike 
fiction  out  of  the  Victorian  western  district  ? 
Are  these  scenes,  these  places,  these  happy 
hunting-grounds  of  the  nature  and  humanity 
lover,  to  be,  like  the  brave  men  who  died 
before  Agamemnon,  always  unknown  because 
of  the  want  of  an  inspired  bard  ? 

It  is  true  that  there  is  a  dry  and  dusty  and 
drably  monotonous  side  to  Australia.  This 
is  the  side  that  is  most  constantly  written 
about.  Geographically  it  is  of  the  greatest 
importance,  because  it  takes  up  so  much  space. 
So    far    as    its    population    is    concerned,    it 


2IO  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

amounts  to  little  more  than  a  bagatelle.  The 
people  who  inhabit  it  are  about  as  numerous 
as  the  ghosts  of  lost  explorers  in  the  Arctic 
Circle.  Everything  is  against  it  as  a  resi- 
dence for  white  men — its  blare  of  relentless 
and  scorching  summers,  its  bleak  and  rainless 
winters,  its  dry  creek-beds,  its  brick-like  plains, 
its  ungenerous  soil,  its  tremendous  distances, 
its  fearful  monotony,  its  unspeakable  isolation. 
Yet  it  is  an  extraordinary  circumstance  that 
white  men  go  there.  They  go  to  live  at 
Burke,  and  at  the  back  of  Burke.  Other  land 
is  waiting  for  them,  other  and  more  genial 
parts  of  the  continent  are  clamouring  for 
settlement.  Yet,  for  some  unknown  and  in- 
explicable cause,  because  of  some  hope  that 
is  greater  than  experience,  because  of  some 
pioneering  instinct  that  is  superior  to  reason, 
because  of  some  courage  that  is  stronger  than 
death,  men  are  to  be  found  ready  to  plunge 
into  this  hard  wilderness,  believing  they  can 
tame  it  and  break  it  in. 

The  books  of  the  most  successful  Australian 
novelist  are  concerned  with  the  doings  of  these 
agricultural  pioneers.  He  has  exploited  them 
for    all    they   are    worth ;    a    critic    might    be 


NOVELIST  AND   HIS   SELECTION   211 

inclined  to  say  for  more  than  they  are  worth, 
if  he  had  not  in  mind  the  extraordinary  result 
of  the  recent  flotations.     There  has  been  quite 
a  sensation  on  the  local  literary  exchange.     Mr 
"  Rudd's "    debentures,   after   three   successive 
issues,  are   as   firm  as   ever.     He  has   mono- 
polised the  market.     Who  else  can  command 
a  price  for  this  kind  of  paper — the  paper  that 
gives  a  mortgage  over  Australian  literary  securi- 
ties ?     The  promoter   of   Dad  and   Company, 
Limited,  has  had  on  his  side  the  most  experi- 
enced "  bulls "  to  be  met  with  in   Melbourne 
and  Sydney.     The   "bears"  have  so  far  had 
no    voice    in    the    matter.       One    particularly 
useful  "bull "  is  he  v/ho  operates  with  a  pencil. 
The  illustrations  of  "  Our   Selection,"  and  of 
"Our    New     Selection,"     and     of     "Sandy's 
Selection,"    are    very    striking    and    effective. 
If  there  is  something  that  the  terse  language 
of  the  novelist  has  failed  to  convey,  or  if  the 
imagination    of  the   reader  is   not  quite  vivid 
enough  to  conjure  up  the  whole  picture,  there 
is   the  artist's   sketch   or  portrait  to   help  out 
the  illusion.     Another  individual,  whose  value 
in    sending   up   literary    stock   can    hardly  be 
overestimated,    is    the    journalistic    fugleman. 


212  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

He  has  been  unanimous  from  end  to  end  of 
Australia,  and  his  share  in  the  "  Steele  Rudd  " 
boom  must  not  be  allowed  to  go  unrecognised. 
It  is  a  game  that  many  play  at,  this  game 
of  novel-writing ;  and  when  some  one  appears 
with  dramatic  suddenness,  and  carries  off  the 
one  prize  worth  having,  it  is  necessary,  it  is 
inevitable,  that  we  should  endeavour  to  find 
out  how  the  feat  has  been  accomplished.  We 
know  that  he  has  succeeded,  but  how,  and 
by  virtue  of  what  gift,  or  mannerism,  has  he 
succeeded?  Is  it  by  sheer  virtue  of  literary 
merit,  style,  finish,  or  that  kind  of  attribute  ? 
These  are  what  one  would  naturally  look  for 
in  any  contest  where  pen  and  ink  are  the  chief 
weapons.  But  the  search  in  this  instance  would 
upset  preconceived  ideas.  "Steele  Rudd's" 
literary  garment  is  pure  homespun.  There  is 
no  embroidery,  no  tapestry,  no  rich  colouring 
of  any  sort.  Even  the  favourite  Australian 
expletives  are  much  watered  down.  One  char- 
acter says  "damn  you"  to  another  character, 
and  says  it  often,  but  otherwise  the  vocabulary 
of  profanity  is  not  drawn  upon.  The  Australian 
novelist  might  have  been  tempted  to  take  a 
leaf  out  of  the  book  of  Rudyard  Kipling,  but 


NOVELIST  AND   HIS  SELECTION   213 

he  has  not  done  so.  For  this  we  can  thank 
him.  He  gives  no  fresh  terms,  puts  no  strain 
on  the  meaning  of  adjectives,  and  takes  no 
liberties  with  the  English  language.  He 
deals  very  largely  with  monosyllables.  Often 
he  leaves  out  introductory  and  connecting 
words,  thus  giving  his  paragraphs  a  jerky, 
staccato  effect.  It  is  a  style  that  Henry 
James  would  marvel  at,  but  one  that  the 
man  in  the  street  thoroughly  understands. 
The  intelligibility  constitutes  its  great  merit. 
Yet,  even  this  latter  quality,  though  it  may 
be  rare,  is  hardly  rare  enough  to  carry  the 
possessor  to  affluence  and  fame. 

In  what,  then,  does  the  supreme  virtue  of 
"  Steele  Rudd's  "  novels  consist  ?  Is  it  in  the 
character-drawing?  Here  again  the  answer 
must  be  in  the  negative.  A  thousand  readers 
will  rise  to  their  feet  as  one  man,  or  as  one 
woman,  and  point  to  the  figure  of  Dad,  the 
original  selector,  as  a  supreme  triumph  of 
characterisation.  But  what  has  Dad  done  to 
render  himself  original,  or  in  any  special  way 
distinctive  ?  As  he  appears  in  these  pages 
he  is  ragged,  sun  -  browned,  simple  -  minded, 
good-hearted,  optimistic,  and  persevering.     It 


214  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

is  a  character  one  likes,  a  temperament  one 
admires.  It  is  a  figure  that  the  Australian 
public  has  taken  to  itself,  and  one  that  only 
a  sacrilegious  person  would  speak  of  in  dis- 
respectful terms.  We  pass  by  Dad  with  all 
deference,  only  venturing  to  remark  that  while 
we  admire  his  courage  and  perseverance,  we 
find  his  optimism  somewhat  reminiscent  of 
Micawber,  and  his  simple-mindedness  faintly 
suggestive  of  my  Uncle  Toby.  And  we  say 
without  any  deference,  that  the  subsidiary 
figures,  the  Dan's,  and  Joe's,  and  Kate's, 
and  Sal's  of  the  "  Selection "  series,  exhibit 
very  little  character-drawing  worthy  of  the 
name. 

There  must  be  some  other  reason  for  the 
author's  triumph.  If  the  cause  is  not  to  be 
found  in  a  superlative  literary  quality,  or  in 
the  subtle  analysis  of  character  exhibited  by 
Meredith  and  others,  it  may  be  discoverable 
in  the  absolute  fidelity  to  nature  of  certain 
scenes  and  incidents.  Have  we  unearthed  in 
"Steele  Rudd"  the  Australian  painter  of  real 
life — a  man  who  can  emulate  in  the  Southern 
Hemisphere  the  example  set  by  Gorky  in 
Russia,    or    Zola    in    France,    or    Gissing    in 


NOVELIST  AND   HIS   SELECTION   215 

England  ?  Scarcely  this,  either.  From  the 
pen  pictures  of  these  back-blocks  novels  the 
element  of  realism  is,  for  the  most  part, 
dexterously  eliminated.  There  may  be — there 
are,  pages  out  of  real  life.  But  if  the  author, 
or  any  one  else,  told  the  whole  truth,  or 
half  the  truth  about  the  stunted  growths  and 
dull  intelligences  that  result  from  too  long 
and  too  intimate  an  acquaintanceship  with 
the  Australian  desert,  the  book  would  not  be 
considered  pleasant  reading.  The  people  who 
buy  it  now  would  put  it  on  one  side  with  a 
slight  shudder,  and  a  Chief  Justice  would  not 
refer  to  it  as  the  kind  of  volume  that  should 
be  in  every  household,  and  studied  by  every 
boy  and  girl.  Mr  "  Rudd's "  so-called  life- 
like pictures  are  much  idealised.  The  palace 
of  Claude  Melnotte  by  the  Lake  of  Como 
was  not  more  preferable  to  the  gardener's 
hut,  than  is  the  cheerful,  breezy  existence  of 
Dad  and  Mother  and  their  entourage  to  the 
soulless,  hopeless  life-struggle  of  a  certain 
kind  of  Australian  family.  To  be  a  genuine 
realist,  you  must  not  only  give  the  hard  facts, 
but  reflect  the  atmosphere  of  your  characters 
and  places.    The  atmosphere  of  "  Steele  Rudd  " 


2i6  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

is  nothing  if  not  buoyant ;  the  writer  is  always 
confident,  and  always  smiling,  even  when  he 
is  telling  about  ruined  crops,  and  suffering 
adults,  and  hungry  children.  If  he  is  not  a 
true  romanticist,  neither  is  he  an  absolute 
realist.  He  is  as  far  from  being  a  Zola  as 
he  is  from  being  a  Beaconsfield. 

Yet  a  triumph  is  a  triumph ;  there  must  be 
some  reason  for  it ;  it  cannot  be  built,  or,  at 
least,  it  cannot  be  sustained  on  air.  If  we 
put  aside  the  literary  quality  which  is  not 
stipulated  for,  and  the  character-drawing  which 
scarcely  exists,  and  the  realism  which  is  mainly 
imaginary,  we  are  driven  back  on  the  humour 
— that  impregnable  Torres  Vedras  behind 
which  every  devotee  of  the  "  Selection  "  novel 
sooner  or  later  entrenches  himself.  It  must 
be  the  h'^mour.  The  word  is  one  that  has 
a  very  wide  meaning.  A  man  might  more 
profitably  endeavour  to  number  the  stars 
than  to  bring  the  elusive  quality  of  humour 
within  the  four  quarters  of  a  satisfactory 
definition.  For  practical  purposes  it  may  be 
observed  that  a  humorous  thing  is  that  which 
strikes  you  as  humorous — though  how,  and 
when,  and  why  it  should  strike  you,  are  matters 


NOVELIST  AND   HIS   SELECTION   217 

that  rest  entirely  with  yourself.  The  most 
learned  pundits  have  laid  it  down  as  an  axiom 
that  there  is  great  humour  in  the  spectacle  of 
the  fool  in  Lear  reminding  his  mad  and 
weather-beaten  master  of  the  sorry  spectacle 
he  is  making  of  himself.  "  Steele  Rudd," 
beyond  all  question,  is  a  humorist,  and  not 
the  less  one  because  his  comic  episodes  take 
place  in  an  atmosphere  that  is  compounded 
much  more  of  tragedy  than  of  mirth.  The 
incidents  themselves — say,  for  example,  those 
of  the  parson  and  the  scone,  of  the  racecourse 
and  the  worn-out  brumby,  of  Dan  and  the 
snake-bite,  of  Dad  and  the  hoe — are  scarcely 
calculated  to  make  a  sympathetic  reader  laugh. 
But  running  through  the  episodes  as  a  whole, 
and  colouring  the  work  as  a  whole,  there  is 
a  certain  suggestion  of  humour  which  it  is 
difficult  to  locate  or  analyse  ;  a  certain  light- 
ness of  touch  which  can  hardly  be  explained 
in  words  ;  a  certain  buoyancy  of  treatment 
that  makes  reading  easy ;  a  certain  creative 
quality  that  is  rarest  of  all,  and  hardest  of 
all  to  define. 

The   humour   and    the    local    colour   would 
appear,    therefore,    to   have   carried    the   day. 


2i8  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

An  author  has  arisen  in  this  country  who  can 
make  his  readers  smile,  and  who  can  convey 
to  them  an  impression  of  certain  places  and 
of  certain  people  peculiar  to  Australia.  It 
does  not  matter  so  much  why  they  smile,  so 
lonor  as  the  smile  is  visible.  In  reg^ard  to  the 
local  colour,  it  is  necessary  to  remark  that  this 
is  not  quite  the  same  thing  as  realism,  though 
the  two  are  often  associated.  Local  colour  is 
the  mask  behind  which  realism  may  or  may 
not  exist.  With  the  aid  of  these  two  qualities, 
or  gifts,  or  attributes,  the  young  man  who 
writes  under  the  pseudonym  of  "  Steele  Rudd  " 
has  travelled  a  long  way.  Perhaps  no  one 
is  more  surprised  at  the  distance  he  has  com- 
passed than  himself.  There  is  evidence  in 
his  latest  work  that  he  is  beginning  to  collect 
himself ;  that  he  is  recovering  from  the  shock 
of  his  literary  advancement,  and  is  beginning 
to  attempt  stronger  and  less  fantastic  things. 
He  may  do  better  even  than  he  has  done  yet. 
Every  one  will  hope  that  it  may  be  so ;  for 
the  writer  with  a  gift  like  his  is  not  common 
in  this  or  in  any  other  country. 

But  there  is  another   phase  of  his  literary 
enterprise    that   must   be   considered.     It   has 


NOVELIST  AND   HIS   SELECTION   219 

to  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  "  Selection  "  novel 
does  not  exhaust  the  methods  of  communica- 
tion between  Mr  "  Rudd  "  and  his  public.  The 
people  who  acclaimed  the  author  in  book  form, 
are — or  were  until  a  few  months  ago — getting 
him  in  magazine  edition.  The  monthly  print 
which  has  sprung  into  existence  on  the  strength 
of  its  editor's  reputation  is  not  only  baptized 
with  his  pen  name,  but  contains  regular 
instalments  of  his  wit  and  fancy.  Once  again 
the  familiar  fig^ures  rise  before  us.  Once  ao-ain 
we  are  invited  to  graze  on  Dad  with  the 
whiskers,  and  Joe  with  the  patched  trousers, 
and  Mother  with  the  arms  akimbo  and  the 
round  face.  Once  again  we  breathe  the 
atmosphere,  once  again  we  hear  the  language. 
Once  again  we  are  reminded  of  the  simple 
economic  truth  that,  so  long  as  there  is  a 
demand  for  any  commercial  or  literary  product, 
a  supply  will  be  forthcoming, 

It  is  distinctly  a  matter  for  congratulation 
that  there  should  be  original  effort,  and  in- 
dividual style  among  the  writers  of  Australia. 
The  continent  should  be  well  able  to  main- 
tain two  or  three  magazines  of  its  own.  One 
has  only  to  think  of  the  talent  that  is  running 


220  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

to  waste.  In  a  majority  of  the  Sydney  and 
Melbourne  daily  papers,  brains  are  allowed 
to  show  themselves,  and  are  occasionally 
encouraged.  If  any  one  takes  the  trouble  to 
read,  critically  and  carefully,  six  successive 
issues  of  one  of  these  big  "  dailies,"  he  will  find 
much  that  is  calculated  to  surprise  him.  If 
he  is  not  surprised,  it  is  only  because  he  has 
been  long  accustomed  to  the  menu.  A  great 
deal  of  skill  in  the  use  of  sentences,  some  vivid 
delineations  of  men  and  places,  much  artistic 
discernment,  undoubted  eye  for  effect,  literary 
or  dramatic  criticism  of  a  bright  and  illuminative 
character — all  these,  and  more,  can  be  found 
now  and  then  in  the  columns  of  the  metropolitan 
press.  Talent  is  going  to  waste  for  the  reason 
that  the  authors  are  usually  unrecognised,  the 
work  is  underpaid,  the  public  take  all  for 
granted,  and  the  writers,  when  their  brilliancy 
begins  to  wane,  are  expected  to  remove  them- 
selves and  their  fading  fortunes  to  another 
arena.  There  shoiild  be  Australian  magazines 
strong  enough  and  popular  enough  to  win  for 
the  man — the  really  able  man — who  grinds  out 
his  soul  on  a  morning  or  evening  paper  at  least 
an  Australian  recognition.     There   should  be. 


NOVELIST  AND   HIS   SELECTION   221 

but  there  are  not.  The  reason,  if  sought  for, 
is  to  be  found  in  the  deep-rooted,  the  seem- 
ingly ineradicable  habit  of  obtaining  magazines, 
along  with  the  latest  book,  the  latest  melo- 
drama, the  most  up-to-date  hat,  and  the 
newest  thing  in  waistcoats,  from  London  or 
Paris,  and  from  nowhere  else. 

"  Steele  Rudd's "  magazine  can  claim  the 
great  merit,  the  unusual  distinction,  of  stand- 
ing on  its  own  feet.  Whatever  else  it  does, 
or  does  not  do,  it  gets  its  materials  from  within 
the  continent.  When  it  deals  in  new  ideas — 
a  somewhat  rare  occurrence  for  a  monthly 
magazine — the  ideas  can  be  set  down  as  its 
own.  It  finds  no  trouble  in  filling  up  space. 
The  old  friends  are  there,  but  they  dance  to 
slightly  different  tunes.  Here  and  there  a 
costume  has  been  altered,  here  and  there  is 
a  fresh  streak  of  colour,  here  and  there  is  a 
new  dab  of  paint.  There  is  nothing  ddcolletd 
about  any  of  the  literary  figures,  or  about 
those  supplied  by  writers  in  this  magazine. 
All  are  decent  and  proper  on  the  moral  side. 
The  one  stipulation  is  that  they  must  be 
Australian.  How  they  grin  and  twist  and 
tumble,  these  subsidiary  performers  whom  the 


222  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

"  Selection "  novel  has  called  into  existence ! 
Here  is  the  contributor  who  is  to  speak  a  piece 
about  art  and  the  Bohemian  quarter — save  the 
mark ! — of  Sydney  and  Melbourne.  Here  is 
our  amusing  friend  of  the  red  page.  Here  is 
our  local  story  writer,  with  his  rather  tragical 
humour,  and  his  rather  humorous  tragedy. 
Here  is  our  minor  poet,  tuning  his  lyre  and 
tearing  his  hair.  And  here  is  the  editor  him- 
self, smiling  genially,  conscious  of  his  triumph, 
but  modest,  inflexibly  modest,  the  while.  They 
are  all  writers  for  *'  Steele  Rudd's  "  magazine. 
The  trail  of  "  Steele  Rudd  "  is  over  them  all. 

What  is  to  be  thought  of  this  latest  develop- 
ment? Is  there  scope  for  it  in  Australia."* 
Will  it  be  permanent  ?  Or  is  the  author 
giving  us  a  little  more  than  we  originally 
bargained  for  ?  Does  he  recollect  the  parallel 
case  of  Tithonus  : — 

I  asked  thee  :  Give  me  immortality  ; 

And  thou  didst  grant  mine  asking  with  a  smile, 

Like  a  rich  man  who  cares  not  how  he  gives. 

The  analogy  is  obvious.  We,  the  suppliant 
public,  are  Tithonus;  Mr  "Rudd,"  the  person 
supplicated,  is  Aurora.  We  asked  him  to 
give  us  more  of  his  "  Selection  "  literature,  and 


NOVELIST  AND   HIS   SELECTION   223 

he,  the  rich  man  mentally,  granted  our  request 
— granted  it  with  a  smile.  But,  again  like 
Tithonus,  we  scarcely  realised  what  we  were 
asking  for,  or  how  much  we  were  likely  to 
get.  For  Mr  "  Rudd  "  himself  ^^q  have  always 
a  welcome,  and  always  some  pieces  of  silver. 
But  for  a  whole  school  of  "  Rudds" — a  recurring^ 
atmosphere  of  "  Rudds  " — a  monthly  and  ever 
present  edition  of  Joe  and  Sandy  and  the 
rest — we  were  not  entirely  prepared.  The 
significant  circumstance  is  that  writers  in  Mr 
'*  Rudd's "  magazine  are  beginning  to  imitate 
Mr  "  Rudd."  When  a  young  lady  contributor 
is  found  beginning  a  sketch  of  a  place  out 
back  with  monosyllabic  question  and  mono- 
syllabic answer — when  "Mick"  and  "Sam" 
and  "the  girls"  are  once  more  brought  forward 
— it  is  to  be  apprehended  that  the  influence 
of  the  master  is  at  work,  and  that  others  are 
attempting  a  task  which  can  be  safely  entrusted 
only  to  one. 

The  story  of  the  "  Selection  novel  "  as  popu- 
larised in  this  country  teaches  a  useful,  if  rather 
obvious,  moral.  In  any  world,  literate  or 
illiterate,  there  is  nothing  succeeds  like  success. 
There  is  no  fixed  law  or  principle  about  these 


224  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

matters.      There   is   no   critic   whose   opinion 

is   worth  anything  when  weighed  against  the 

opinion  of  any  other  critic.     "  V/hat  am  I,  the 

dreamer,  but  a  dream  ? "  writes  Victor  Daley, 

a propos  of  the  riddle  of  existence.     How  can 

we,   the  lookers  on  at  the  game,  know  what 

the  verdict  of  the  public  will  be,   or  whether 

thumbs  will  be  turned  up  or  down  ?     One  man 

has  a  fondness  for  the  poetry  of  Shelley,  and 

another  prefers  the  prose  of  Mr  Lorimer ;  one 

man   has   a    passion    for    Lohengrin,    another 

would  rather  have  three  hours  of  The  Country 

Girl.     And  if  the  majority  prefer  it,  if  it  gives 

them  more  genuine  pleasure.  The  Country  Girl 

is  the  better  work  of  the  two,  whatever  some 

opinionated   critic    may   say    to    the    contrary. 

It  is  useless  to  argue  about  opinions.     There 

is  only  one   recognised   criterion,   and  that  is 

success.     There  is  only  one  way  of  measuring 

success,  and  that  is  by  the  monetary  standard. 

When  cast  into   the  scales,  the   third,  and   in 

some  respects  the  weakest  of  "Steele  Rudd's" 

books,  weighs  out  at  ^500.     And  this  for  an 

Australian  literary  man  is  the  most  conspicuous 

success  yet  achieved. 


XI 

THREE  WRITERS   OF   VERSE 

Where  are  the  songs  of  Spring  ?  Ay,  where  are  they  ? 
Think  not  of  them,  thou  hast  thy  music,  too. 

Yes,  we  have  our  own  music :  and  it  is  not 
all  thin  in  quality,  nor  is  it  all  played  upon 
a  single  string.  A  rare  value,  a  special  dis- 
tinction attach  to  the  achievements  in  verse 
of  Victor  Daley,  who  is  one  of  the  latest  to 
join  the  great  company  of  poets  in  the  shades. 
He  did  his  work  for  a  people  who  were 
somewhat  indifferent  and  who,  when  they 
appreciated,  showed  their  appreciation  in  no 
very  practical  way.     And  now,   when  he  is 

Far  too  far  for  words  or  wings  to  follow. 
Far  too  far  off  for  thought  or  any  prayer, 

these     fitfully     poetical,      but    wholly     good- 

225  p 


226  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

hearted  people  of  the  continent  in  which  he 
Hved  are  incHned  to  regret  him.  It  is  a 
regret  that  does  them  credit,  though  it  can 
be  tempered  with  some  reflections  of  a  more 
satisfying  kind.  For  Daley  was  honoured 
probably  as  much  as — perhaps  more  than — 
most  poets  are  by  their  contemporaries.  It 
is  possible  to  believe  that  in  the  long  twilight 
which  preceded  his  earthly  eclipse,  he  believed 
that  he  had  given  lasting  shape  and  form  to 
some  of  the  more  beautiful,  more  intangible 
things  of  life,  and  found  sufficient  consolation 
in  the  belief.  There  is  not  a  great  deal  to 
be  said  about  the  life  history  of  Victor  Daley. 
Some  one  of  those  who  rhymed  with  him, 
drank  with  him,  joked  with  him,  or  sat  up 
all  night  quoting  verses  with  him  may  yet 
write  his  biography.  But  it  will  not  be  a 
startling  or  an  eventful  document.  He  was 
of  Irish  parentage  and  came  to  Australia — 
unless  a  statement  made  by  one  of  his  most 
intimate  friends  is  erroneous — when  nearly  out 
of  his  teens.  He  drifted  into  journalism,  as 
many  men  of  restless  temperament  and  un- 
commercial principles  do.  He  wrote  a  great 
deal   both   in  prose  and  verse  for  Melbourne 


THREE  WRITERS  OF  VERSE  227 
papers,  for  Sydney  papers,  and  for  up-country 
papers  in  New  South  Wales.  He  married 
early,  and  children  grew  up  round  him. 
When  he  died  in  Sydney  towards  the  end  of 
December  1905,  he  was  but  forty-seven  years 
of  age.  The  lingering  illness  that  preceded 
his  death  left  him  in  straightened  circum- 
stances ;  so  straightened,  in  fact,  that  his 
friends  thought  less,  at  the  finish,  of  his 
chances  of  immortality  than  of  the  prospects 
of  keeping  a  roof  over  his  and  his  children's 
heads. 

His  most  important  publication  was  the 
volume  At  Dawn  and  Dusk,  which  appeared 
about  eight  years  before  his  death.  It  con- 
sisted for  the  most  part  of  occasional  pieces, 
reprinted  from  various  papers.  It  brought 
the  author  a  certain  amount  of  intelligent 
and  appreciative  criticism,  and  a  slight — 
but  only  a  slight — monetary  reward.  There- 
after he  went  on  his  way ;  the  fitful  and 
uncertain  way  of  one  whom  circumstances 
had  forced  into  journalism,  but  whom  tempera- 
ment had  made  a  poet.  The  book  mentioned 
is  his  permanent  record. 

There  are  certain  moods  that  are  not  easily 


228  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

expressed  in  the  forms  of  common  speech ; 
that  are  not  easily  expressed  at  all.  There 
are  occasions  when  the  average  man  wishes — 
it  may  be  only  for  an  instant  or  two,  but  he 
wishes — that  he  had  some  better  medium  of 
thought  transference  than  the  ordinary  prose 
of  ordinary  use.  For  those  few  moments  he 
could  desire  that  the  gods  had  made  him 
poetical,  even  if  for  the  remainder  of  his  life 
he  would  prefer  that  they  made  him  anything 
else.  Then,  it  may  be,  there  comes  beating 
across  his  brain  the  recollection  of  a  similar 
mood  interpreted  adequately  and  finely  by 
another.  He  is  grateful  for  the  chance  of 
appropriating  and  taking  to  himself  that 
which  he  did  not  individually  create. 

One  of  these  less  prosaic,  less  frequent 
moods  is  that  of  sentimental  regret.  Every 
one  knows  it,  every  one  has  been  through  it. 
When  looked  back  upon,  it  is  an  experience 
to  be  valued.  It  is  always  a  relief  from  the 
harder  outlines  of  the  present.  It  need  have 
no  bitterness  and  scarcely  a  tinge  of  remorse. 
This  mood,  or  the  indulgence  in  it,  is  the 
tribute  the  man  of  sensitive  mind  pays  to 
his   better   nature,    to    the   woman   he    might 


THREE   WRITERS   OF   VERSE       229 

have  loved,  to  the  ideal  he  might  have 
attained.  It  is  a  mood  that  the  million 
recognise,  but  that  only  the  one  in  a  million 
— that  Is  to  say,  the  genuine  poet — should  be 
allowed  to  express.  Another  mood,  and  a 
more  impersonal  one,  is  that  which  implies 
discontent  with  the  present  surroundings,  and 
longing  for  more  distant  fields,  for  ampler 
opportunities,  for  less  prosaic  realities.  The 
discontent  may  be  merely  petulant  or  It  mxay 
have  in  it  something  of  the  nature  of  the 
Divine.  All  depends  on  the  temperament  of 
the  individual.  Yet  another  mood,  and  a  still 
more  pronounced  and  easily  recognised  one, 
is  that  of  erotic  or  of  semi-sensual  desire.  In 
its  cruder  and  more  direct  form  it  is  the 
mood  that  finds  voice  in  the  Shakespearian 
poem  of  Venus  and  Adonis  ;  in  its  ethereallsed 
essence  it  is  the  mood  of  Shelley  in  the  poem 
addressed  to  Emilia  Vivlanl. 

The  first  of  these  moods — the  half- regretful, 
half-sentimental  and  wholly  Idealistic  one — Is 
finely  interpreted  by  Daley  in  the  verses 
entitled  Years  Ago.  He  voices  a  passion 
that  Is  no  longer  a  passion,  but  rather  a  figure 
of     remembrance,     from     which     the     poetic 


230  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

temperament  can  draw  Memnon  music.  The 
woman  of  these  verses  is  not  described,  but 
suggested.  There  is  no  need  to  describe  her. 
The  reader  must  build  her  up  out  of  his  own 
experiences.  She  must  always  be  looked  at 
from  a  distance,  and  must  always  live  in  the 
mind  of  the  man  for  whom  the  intenser  passion 
of  desire  has  become  the  soft  glow  of  remem- 
brance. Daley  shows  her  silhouetted  against 
the  sky-line  at  the  moment  when  his  ship, 
the  inevitable  ship  of  Destiny,  goes  sailing  : 

Across  the  seas  in  the  years  agone ; 

And  seaward  set  were  the  eyes  unquailing, 

And  landward  looking  the  faces  wan. 

The  poem  is  a  very  fine  one.  It  is 
musical,  rhythmical,  dreamily  sensuous,  and 
never  crudely  realistic.  The  workmanship  is 
even,  and  the  high  level  reached  in  the  first 
verse  is  maintained  to  the  end.  The  words 
and  the  treatment  create  their  own  sentiment, 
and  always  suggest  more  than  they  say. 

There  is  another  mood  in  which  Daley 
has  been  equally  successful  —  the  mood  of 
picturesque  romance.  This  is  the  frame  of 
mind   in    which    he   sails    "into   the    sunset's 


THREE   WRITERS   OF  VERSE       231 

glow."  Here,  also,  he  strikes  a  note  that 
awakens  a  universal  echo.  Every  man  has 
wanted,  at  some  time  or  another,  to  sail  into 
the  sunset,  understanding  by  that  word  the 
whole  untrodden,  unattainable,  indefinable, 
but  brilliantly  lighted  and  always  glowing 
region  that  lies  beyond  the  boundaries  of  the 
place  in  which  he  follows  out  the  round  of  his 
allotted  tasks.  It  is  only  on  the  wings  of 
imagination  that  one  ever  arrives  within  sight 
of  this  region.  And  the  wings  themselves 
must  be  of  a  certain  texture,  or  they  will 
melt  more  quickly  than  did  those  of  Icarus. 
There  are  only  one  or  two  people  who  can 
supply  materials  calculated  to  take  the 
voyager  there.  Victor  Daley  is  one  of  these. 
He  has  himself  explained  the  necessary 
equipment : — 

Our  ship  shall  be  of  sandal  built, 
Like  ships  in  old-world  tales, 

Carven  with  cunning  art,  and  gilt, 
And  winged  with  scented  sails 

Of  silver  silk,  whereon  the  red 

Great  gladioli  burn ; 
A  rainbow  flag  at  her  masthead, 

A  rose  flao;  at  her  stern  .  .  . 


232  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

And  perching  on  the  point  above, 
Wherefrom  the  pennon  blows, 

The  figure  of  a  flying  dove, 
And  in  her  beak  a  rose. 

It  is  an  auspicious,  even  a  brilliant  commence- 
ment. Dull  and  ungrateful  must  be  the  mind 
or  temperament  that  refuses  to  acknowledge 
either  the  skill  of  the  builder,  or  the  perfec- 
tion  of  the  craft. 

A  third  phase  of  Daley's  is  one  common 
to  all  poets,  whether  good,  bad,  or  indifferent. 
Its  impression  is  conveyed  in  what,  for  want 
of  a  more  exact  term,  is  called  love  poetry. 
It  is  not  composed  either  of  sentimental 
regrets  or  of  sunset  fantasies.  It  deals  with 
the  present  and  associates  itself  with  one 
object  —  a  living  one.  A  certain  class  of 
writer  conveys  in  this  form  of  poetry  a  direct 
appeal  to  the  senses.  Daley  rarely  does 
so.  He  is  always  imaginative  rather  than 
realistic.  He  can  play  on  more  than  one 
emotional  string ;  but  it  is  never  so  much 
the  woman  herself  as  the  memory  and  the 
thought  of  her  that  he  appears  to  caress. 
In  the  verses  entitled  At  the  Opera,  which 
recall   Browning's  A  Pretty   Woman,  he  puts 


THREE   WRITERS   OF  VERSE       233 

his  poetic  creed  into  a  sentence.  Others  may 
pluck  the  rose  and  watch  it  fall  and  die ; 
"but  I— 

Love  it  so  well,  I  leave  it  free." 

And  even  in  Blanckelys,  warmly  tinted  as 
it  is,  he  suggests  in  the  opening  four  lines  an 
atmosphere  that  is  far  more  idealistic  than  it 
is  intense  or  burning : — 

With  little  hands  all  filled  with  bloom. 
The  rose  tree  wakes  from  her  long  trance, 

And  from  my  heart,  as  from  a  tomb, 
Steals  forth  the  ghost  of  dead  romance. 

It  stands  to  the  author's  credit  that  his  touch 
never  vulgarises.  He  never  drags  his 
objective  to  a  lower  level ;  when  his  theme 
is  woman  he  raises  her  to  his  own  level,  or 
to  the  one  that  he  has  created  for  her. 

Victor  Daley  has  written  on  a  variety  of 
subjects,  and  some  of  his  work  is  in  a  lightly 
humorous  and  descriptive  vein.  His  signal 
merit  as  an  Australian  writer  is  that  he  is  not 
wedded  to  the  soil.  He  is  not  dependent  on 
the  gum  tree  or  the  wattle,  or  the  dusty  plain. 
His  best  work  is  cosmopolitan  in  character 
and  tone.     It  is  difficult  to  see  how  the  fore- 


234  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

most  place  among  local  writers  of  imaginative 
literature   can    be  denied    to    the  man    whose 
name  is  appended   to  the  collection  of  verses 
At     Dmvn     and     Dusk.       A    strictly     con  - 
scientious  critic  might  find  it  incumbent  upon 
him  to  add  that  while  Daley  has  done  some 
things  well,  he  has  done  other  things  not  so 
well.     He  might  begin  with  a   major  premise 
to    the    effect  that   the  poet  was   conspicuous 
for  some  gifts,  and  add  as  a   minor  premise, 
that  he  was    not   so    conspicuous  for   others  ; 
and   the  syllogism   might  be   completed  by  a 
pronouncement   to    the    effect   that    when    the 
indifferent  work  had  been  weighed  against  the 
good   work,    the   latter    much    preponderated. 
Sometimes  it  seems  as  though   there  were  a 
clog  on  Victor  Daley  in  his  flight  towards  the 
empyrean.     He   wants  something  of  the  lyric 
quality,  not  merely  of  a  Shelley  or  a  Swinburne, 
but    of    such    a    musical    rhymester    as    Will 
Ogilvie.       The    man    who    wrote    Blanchelys 
is   in  the  same  family  as  Cassius  ;    he  thinks 
too    much.       The    idea    is    sometimes    better 
than    its  setting.        Imagination,    atmosphere, 
creative  power,   selection,   beauty  of   thought, 
beauty  of  phrase — he  has  all  these.     But  that 


THREE   WRITERS   OF  VERSE       235 

resistless  melody  which  flows  like  water,  and 
chimes  like  a  bell,  is  only  attained  by  him 
now  and  then.  It  is  only  occasionally  that 
harmony  of  thought  and  expression  are 
complete.  There  is  no  doubt  that  Daley 
lacks  much  of  the  rousing,  resonant  quality 
that  always  appeals  so  strangely  to  unpoetical 
people ;  that  is  to  say,  to  the  majority  of 
people  in  most  countries  under  the  sun. 
Thus  a  few  still  pass  him  in  the  race  for 
recognition  ;  there  was  scarce  one  in  his  life- 
time that  did  not  pass  him  in  the  pursuit  of 
tangible  reward. 

Yet  it  should  not  matter  a  great  deal  to 
Victor  Daley,  living  or  dead.  He  was  never 
a  great  popular  success.  He  never  aspired 
to  be  a  great  social  success.  His  personal 
gifts  and  graces  were  reserved  for  the  com- 
paratively few.  The  average  individual,  who 
deals  in  groceries,  or  who  has  laid  hands  on 
mining  shares,  could  have  bought  and  sold 
him  many  times,  even  in  his  most  prosperous 
days.  There  are  a  large  number  of  prosperous 
tradesmen  in  the  country  who  could,  meta- 
phorically, have  driven  over  him — who  would 
certainly  have  done  so  literally,  unless  he  had 


236  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

scrambled  out  of  the  way.  He  dealt  in  b'ains, 
in  sentiment,  in  imagination,  in  the  beauty  of 
life  and  the  romance  of  life.  He  was  not 
outwardly  successful,  because  that  kind  of 
success  belongs  principally  to  the  coarse- 
grained men,  to  the  rough  -  fibred  men,  to 
the  unimao-inative  and  the  uncreative  or  the 
essentially  lucky  man  of  the  world.  But  it 
does  not  greatly  matter.  He  has  his  audience, 
and  it  is  a  growing  one.  It  is  the  only  kind 
of  audience  whose  good  opinion  is  really 
desirable.  It  will  remember  him  and  cherish 
him  in  that  region  of  fancy  to  which  all  good 
poets  make  their  way  hereafter — a  region  in 
which  tradesmen  cease  from  troubling  and 
self-made  merchants  never  intrude. 

It  may  be  putting  a  stress  on  the  word  to 
call  Henry  Lav/son  a  poet ;  but  a  writer  of 
many  verses,  some  of  them  very  good  ones, 
he  certainly  is.  He  is  a  prominent  figure  in 
Australian  literature,  or  what  passes  for 
Australian  literature.  He  covers  a  great  deal 
of  ground ;  he  is  always  suggestive  of  one 
country,  and  that  country  Australia ;  he  has 
a   great   deal  of  talent ;  he  is — or  was — very 


THREE   WRITERS   OF   VERSE       237 

restless  and  ambitious ;  he  is  extremely 
versatile ;  and  after  ten  or  twelve  years'  work 
he  finds  himself  still  pursuing  editors  to  their 
sanctum,  and  still  wondering  where  the  latest 
manuscript  is  likely  to  find  a  resting-place. 
TantcB  molis  erat  —  to  win  fame  by  writing 
prose  or  verse  in  Australia. 

And  yet  Lawson,  if  he  has  won  nothing 
else,  has  won  a  very  considerable  measure  of 
local  fame.  Of  the  five  million  people  in 
Australasia,  it  is  only  the  very  uneducated 
and  very  unintelligent  who  are  not  acquainted 
at  least  with  his  name.  He  is  better  known 
than  Victor  Daley,  only  less  known  than 
Gordon  and  Kendall.  This,  at  any  rate,  is 
something.  The  pity  of  it  is  that  those  who 
know  what  he  has  done  are  aware  also  of  what 
he  has  failed  to  do,  or  of  what  the  people 
he  wrote  for  would  not  let  him  do ;  of  the 
manner  in  which  he  has  drifted  or  been 
driven  from  pillar  to  post ;  of  his  peregrina- 
tions throughout  this  continent,  through  New 
Zealand,  throughout  England,  and  back  again  ; 
of  his  inability  to  lay  up  for  himself  treasure 
upon  earth  ;  of  his  frequent  discouragements 
following    upon    his   fitful    successes ;    of    his 


238  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

shaken  firmness  of  purpose  and  of  mind.  The 
likinof  and  admiration  felt  for  him  are  tinored 
with  the  sympathy  that  one  feels  for  a  man 
who  has  been  cheated  by  destiny  of  the  stakes 
he  fairly  played  for,  and  should  have  fairly  won. 
Daley's  genius  is  essentially  cosmopolitan  ; 
Lawson's  temper  and  colouring  are  always 
Australian.  Therein  lies  the  main  difference 
between  them.  Lawson  attempted  at  the 
outset  an  almost  impossible  task.  He  aspired 
to  make  both  a  living  and  a  name  for  himself 
as  a  literary  man.  It  was  a  noble  aspiration, 
but  in  the  circumstances  quixotic.  What  he 
needed,  what  he  should  have  been  given,  was 
some  professional,  or  even  some  mechanical 
training  that  would  have  brought  him  in  an 
income,  while  his  audience  and  his  reputation 
were  growing.  Some  one  ought  to  have  taught 
him  shorthand,  or  got  him  into  the  Civil 
Service,  or  made  him  a  lawyer's  clerk,  or 
instructed  him  in  the  art  of  making  bricks,  or 
driving  cabs  —  anything  to  save  him  from 
drifting  round  the  continent  with  unpublished 
manuscripts  in  his  pocket.  Some  one  should 
have  done  this  for  him  ;  but  who?  His  father 
he  never  really  knew.     His  mother,  a  large- 


THREE   WRITERS   OF   VERSE       239 

hearted,  large  -  minded  woman,  happened  to 
be  proud  of  her  son.  He  grew  up  without 
a  professional  training,  but  with  a  rich  in- 
heritance of  ideas. 

He  has  offered  himself  to  the  reading  public 
of  Australia  ;  has,  in  fact,  thrown  himself  upon 
it.  He  has  not  been  rejected ;  but  he  has 
learned  that  the  path  of  the  literary  free-lance 
is  one  of  the  rockiest  and  most  discouraofino" 

o       o 

that  ever  presented  itself  to  a  man  cursed  with 
a  hatred  of  routine,  and  an  ability  to  write. 
The  recognition  that  he  has  won  has  never 
had  an  adequate  cash  value.  He  acknow- 
ledges the  fact  with  much  candour  and  some 
bitterness.  But  he  has  taken  the  eood  with 
the  evil.  He  has  never  lost  heart.  He  is  not 
unmindful  of  his  author's  prestige,  and  is  not 
lost  to  its  compensations.  Yet  he  v/rites  to 
his  son  : — 


You  are  a  child  of  field  and  flood, 

But  with  the  gipsy  strains, 
A  strong  Norwegian  sailor's  blood 

Is  running  through  your  veins. 
Be  true,  and  slander  never  stings ; 

Be  straight,  and  all  may  frown — 
You'll  have  the  strength  to  grapple  things 

That  dragged  your  father  down, 


240  THE    REAL  AUSTRALIA 

Be  generous,  and  still  do  good, 

And  banish  while  you  live 
The  spectre  of  ingratitude 

That  haunts  the  ones  who  give. 
But  if  the  crisis  comes  at  length 

That  your  fate  might  be  marred, 
Strike  hard,  my  son,  with  all  your  strength, 

For  your  own  self's  sake,  strike  hard  ! 


Lawson  himself  has  struck  often  and 
dexterously,  but  with  a  somewhat  uncertain 
aim,  a  wavering  objective.  He  realises  now 
that  success  is  won  only  by  a  striking  hard  and 
relentlessly  at  the  one  thing  in  front  of  you ; 
by  striking  also  at  the  heads  of  all  who  happen 
to  get  in  the  way. 

In  estimating  the  published  work  of  this 
bard  of  the  bush  and  the  open  plain,  it  is 
desirable  to  allow  something  for  the  special 
circumstances  that  have  both  made  and 
hampered  him.  He  has  had  to  write  for  his 
living;  and  he  has  written  too  much.  His 
typical  and  humorous  verses  were  never  out 
of  place  in  the  columns  of  a  newspaper,  but 
their  careful  collection  and  subsequent  repro- 
duction in  book  form  were  not  necessarily  a 
service  to  the  memory  of  the  author.  Lawson 
would   admit  quite    candidly    that   they    were 


THREE   WRITERS  OF   VERSE       241 

written,  many  of  them,  to  fill  up  space  and  to 
earn  a  guinea.  They  were  not  intended  as 
pure  literature ;  and  if  regarded  in  that  light 
may  be  the  cause  of  an  injustice  to  the  author. 
To  get  to  what  is  worth  preserving  it  is 
necessary  to  rummage  about  among  a  mass 
of  what  belongs  only  to  the  moment. 

There  is  scarcely  a  type,  or  a  class,  or  a 
feature  in  the  life  of  his  continent  about  which 
he  has  not  rhymed  and  written.  The  station- 
hand,  the  rouse-about,  the  shearer,  the  bullock- 
driver,  the  jackaroo,  the  up-country  selector, 
the  swagman,  the  drover,  the  dead-beat — he 
has  made  verses  and  extracted  humour  out  of 
all  of  these,  and  out  of  many  more  of  the  same 
kind.  He  has  shown  great  ingenuity,  great 
powers  of  observation,  wide-reaching  sympathy, 
and  a  great  deal  of  very  clever  phrasing  in  this 
class  of  work.  The  result  may  not  be  poetry, 
but  it  forms  in  the  aggregate  a  rare  and 
valuable  picture  of  a  mode  of  life  and  of  a 
people  who  are  still  a  people  apart  from  the 
rest  of  the  world.  No  one  has  described  them 
quite  so  faithfully  as  Lawson  has  done.  Some 
of  these  verses,  for  example  those  entitled 
When  the  Ladies  come  to  the  Shearing  Shed, 

Q 


242  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

will  stand  reprinting  and,  for  the  purposes  of 
the  comic  reciter,  committing  to  memory. 

But  Lawson  is,  or  until  recently  was, 
genuinely  ambitious.  He  knows  what  is 
poetry  and  what  is  not.  He  has  fine  ideas. 
He  has  felt  something  of  the  sentiment  of 
life  and  something  of  the  weird  romance  and 
tragedy  of  life.  A  starry  night  in  the  wilder- 
ness, a  woman  standing  by  the  water's  edge, 
a  homestead  where  there  was  once  a  garden, 
a  sunset,  a  tree,  a  flight  of  wild  birds — all 
these  have  spoken  of  him,  and  he  has  answered 
back  in  kind.  His  handling  of  romantic  and 
of  patriotic  themes  marks  clearly  both  his 
achievement  and  his  limitations  as  a  poet. 
From  such  pieces  as  Reedy  Rive7',  The  Old 
Stone  Chim7iey^  Faces  in  the  Street^  and  others 
of  the  kind,  we  understand  what  he  has  felt, 
and  what  he  would  wish  to  say.  Such  verses 
show  that  he  comes  near  to  the  goal  of  true 
poetry,  and  even  occasionally  places  his  hand 
upon  it.  But  his  final  word  and  his  strongest 
word  is  that  in  which  he  voices  the  longing  of 
the  man  who  wishes  to  do  more  than  fate  will 
let  him  do.  The  world,  he  says,  is  not  wide 
enough.      The   scope    is    not    great   enough. 


THREE   WRITERS   OF   VERSE       243 

The  chances  are  not  attractive  enough.  The 
fetters  are  becoming  more  cramping  as  each 
generation  goes  by.  But  once — once  there 
was  a  time.  Listen  to  the  resonant  ring  of 
it,  that  other  time  : — 

Then  a  man  could  fight  if  his  heart  were  bold,  and 

win,  if  his  faith  were  true, 
Were  it  love  or  honour  or  power  or  gold  or  all  that  our 

hearts  pursue, 
Could  live  to  the  world  for  the  family  name,  or  die  for 

the  family  pride. 
Could  fly  from  sorrow  and  sin  and  shame,  in  the  days 

when  the  world  was  wide. 

Henry  Lawson  should,  for  his  own  happiness' 
sake,  have  lived  in  that  other  and  more 
spacious  time. 

As  the  third  representative  of  the  school  of 
contemporary  verse  writers  we  may  take  Miss 
Louise  Mack.  We  may  take  her  for  several 
reasons.  In  the  first  place,  she  is  a  woman 
and  represents  the  woman's  point  of  view — 
the  Australian  woman's  attitude  towards  art 
and  life.  In  the  second  place,  it  has  been 
claimed  for  her,  by  some  of  those  who  have 
followed  her  work  most  closely,  that  her 
achievement  in  verse  is  the  most  considerable 
that   stands   to    the    record    of    a    woman    in 


244  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

Australia.  In  the  third  place,  it  is  a  fact 
incapable  of  disguise  that  she  has  distinctive 
promise  and  distinctive  merits  of  her  own. 

Setting  apart  for  a  moment  the  attainments 
of  Miss  Mack  as  a  writer  of  poems,  it  is  im- 
possible not  to  appreciate  and  "affect"  the  nature 
and  temperament  of  the  woman.  She  has  both 
strength  and  delicacy.  She  has  a  genuine, 
inborn  habit  of  tenderness,  combined  with  a 
certain  power  of  artistic  restraint.  She  is  by- 
no  means  colourless.  She  is  not  a  mere 
imitator.  She  understands  a  great  deal  even 
if  she  does  not  in  her  literary  work  always 
realise  a  great  deal.  It  is  this  combination  of 
strength  and  tenderness,  added  to  an  artistic, 
womanly  sensibility,  that  makes  her  already  a 
distinctive  figure  in  the  world  of  letters,  and 
gives  promise  of  yet  greater  achievement  and 
wider  appreciation  in  the  future. 

What  this  Australian  authoress  needed  at 
the  outset  was  a  measure  of  candid,  though 
kindly,  criticism,  and  a  certain  amount  of 
disappointment.  Instead  of  these  she  was 
given  an  intoxicating  draught  of  praise.  To 
a  Daley  or  a  Lawson  this  recognition,  this 
flattery,  might  not  have  proved  in  any  sense 


THREE    WRITERS   OF   VERSE       245 

harmful.  The  man's  faculties  are  harder,  more 
firmly  knit.  His  temperament  is  less  emotional. 
His  judgement  is  less  easily  swayed.  If  he 
possesses  an  original  vein  he  will,  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten,  let  it  take  its  course.  But 
Miss  Mack,  when  scarcely  out  of  her  teens, 
had  held  to  her  lips  a  cup  of  intoxicating 
quality  —  a  cup  for  which  hundreds  of  men 
and  women,  of  perhaps  equal  ability  wait  all 
their  lives  and  which  they  never  obtain.  The 
people  who  championed  her  not  only  printed 
her  poetry,  as  they  well  might  do,  but  printed 
her  prose.  This  prose,  though  it  did  not  rise 
above  mediocrity,  found  its  way  into  book  form, 
and  was  despatched  with  much  enthusiasm 
to  different  parts  of  this,  and  of  the  other 
hemisphere.  The  ambitious  girl  was  taken  on 
the  staff  of  one  of  the  Sydney  papers.  She 
was  grateful  and  anxious  to  please.  She  knew 
that  her  predecessors  in  office  had  been  smart 
and  flippant ;  she  knew  that  she  was  expected 
to  be  the  same.  She  did  her  best  to  fulfil 
expectations.  And  though  she  never  quite 
got  down  to  the  level  of  the  tiresomely  smart 
and  painfully  clever  society  writer,  she  at  least 
succeeded   in   suggesting,    through    her    prose 


246  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

writings,  the  atmosphere  of  the  circle  amid 
which  she  wrote.  She  could  not  be  vulgar, 
therefore  she  was  only  moderately  smart.  She 
avoided  being  serious,  and  she  realised — what? 
The  pity  of  it  is  that  when  she  emerged  from 
this  groove,  and  began  to  write  books  of  travel 
and  of  personal  experience  she  wrote  as  if  still 
under  the  impression  that  it  would  never  do 
to  be  herself;  that  it  was  necessary  to  be 
smart,  or  to  perish  in  the  attempt. 

However,  it  is  possible  to  forgive  her  for 
conveying  that  impression.  It  is  possible  to 
forgive  a  great  deal  to  a  mind  like  hers,  to 
a  talent  like  hers.  Her  verses,  collected  into 
book  form  and  published  under  the  title  of 
Dreams  in  Flower,  form  a  compendium  which 
is  of  genuine  value,  and  which  possibly  justifies 
its  claim  to  be  considered  "the  most  distin- 
guished body  of  verses  "  written  by  a  woman 
in  Australia. 

It  is  the  peculiar  merit  of  Miss  Louise  Mack 
that  she  almost  invariably  suggests  more  than 
she  actually  conveys.  The  intangible  thing 
called  inspiration  is  hers.  The  ether  waves 
that  play  upon  the  surface  of  her  imagination 
are  of  the  subtlest  and  rarest  kind.     Neither 


THREE   WRITERS   OF   VERSE       247 

her  ideas  nor  her  method  are  commonplace. 
Continually  she  seems  to  be  opening  the  door 
to  an  enchanted  region  of  fancy,  to  vistas  of 
the  loftiest  conception,  to  palaces  of  purest 
gold.  But  the  glimpse  is  a  fleeting  one.  The 
door  is  no  sooner  half  opened  than  it  is  shut 
again.  Or,  if  the  enquirer  is  allowed  to  enter, 
if  he  makes  any  progress  beyond  the  rich  and 
splendid  portals,  he  usually  meets  with  dis- 
illusion. He  finds  that  the  initial  grandeur 
will  not  go  with  him  to  the  end  of  the  journey. 
He  realises  that  the  authoress  has  given  him 
a  promising  start,  but  that  if  he  follows  her 
too  expectantly  he  is  likely  to  get  left  in  the 
wilderness. 

Considering  that  poetry  is  mainly  impres- 
sionism, and  that  it  is  not  like  logic,  where 
a  weak  link  in  the  chain  of  reasoning  makes 
the  whole  fabric  worthless,  it  is  necessary  to 
acknowledge  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  this  writer 
for  her  fine  individual  passages,  for  her  rich 
idealism,  for  her  many  m.usical  lines.  She  can 
play  on  more  than  one  string.  Her  lines  on 
Sydney,  which  stand  at  the  commencement  of 
Dreams  in  Flower  have  a  trick  of  haunting 
the  memory.     The  sentiment  is  warmly  human, 


248  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

but  is  so  far  from  being  commonplace  that  it 
deserves  to  be  called  pantheistic.  The  opening 
invocation  would  disarm  criticism  ; — 

Oh  !  to  mix  in  my  soul  this  city, 

That  Ues  with  feet  in  the  fairest  waters, 

This  young,  unformed  Australian  city ! 

In  the  harbour's  arms  the  isles,  her  daughters, 

Dream  all  day  in  a  perfect  sleep. 

Oh  !  to  hold  in  my  heart  those  waters, 

Flowing  east  with  the  sun  behind  them, 

Through  great  gates  to  the  outer  deep  ! 

There  are  two  following  verses  almost  equally- 
good,  and  it  is  only  in  the  fourth  and  last  that 
the  inspiration  is  seen  to  flag : — 

Oh  !  to  sing  of  this  little  city 
A  true  strong  song  that  no  years  can  weaken  : 
A  song  that  tells  how  the  sea-girt  city 
Cast  her  light  o'er  the  seas,  a  beacon 
Seen  and  sought  by  the  farmost  sail ; 
Made  a  name  that  no  years  could  weaken. 
Fought  a  way  to  the  fore  of  nations, 
All  lands  owning  her  vast  avail ! 

The  repetition  of  "weaken,"  as  applied  first 
to  the  song  and  then  to  the  name,  is  not 
effective  ;  there  seems  to  be  confusion  of  ideas 
between  a  place  that  is  merely  a  glimmering 
beacon  and  one  that  has  attained  to  "the  fore 
of  nations,"  while  the  meaning  of  the  last  line 


THREE   WRITERS   OF  VERSE       249 

is  not  clear.  The  inspiration  which  carried  the 
writer  brilliantly  through  three  verses  failed 
her  in  the  last. 

Yet  there  are  individual  poems  in  this 
collection  which  betray  no  serious  defects  of 
workmanship.  They  are  short  and  strong  and 
self-contained.  They  are  the  exception  to 
the  general  rule  which  makes  Miss  Mack  a 
poet  of  exceptional  promise  but  of  uneven  per- 
formance. The  lines  On  Wairee  Hill  are 
imaginative,  and  always  musical.  Illusion 
strikes  more  than  one  resonant  note.  In  the 
verses  entitled  Vows  we  get  the  woman's 
emotional  and  intellectual  strength  in  revolt 
against  the  trammels  of  conventionalism  ;  and 
in  As  long  as  any  May  there  is  as  much 
intensity  as  the  brainy  Australian  woman 
usually  allows  herself  to  feel — or,  at  any  rate, 
to  express. 

There  is  a  certain  intellectual  force,  as  well 
as  a  genuine  poetic  vein,  in  the  verses  of 
Miss  Louise  Mack.  One  imagines  her  to  be 
always  mistress  of  herself.  The  lyric  mood 
may  interpret  her,  but  it  does  not  master  her. 
We  find  here  no  hint  of  the  school  which 
delights  in  "sense  swooning  into  sound."     To 


250  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

quote  from  her  poems  is  hardly  to  do  her 
justice.  She  is  stronger  mentally,  and  finer 
artistically,  than  her  published  work. 

There  is  one  short  piece  entitled — it  might 
be  Silences — which  seems  to  interpret,  as  nearly 
as  possible,  her  independent,  woman's  view  of 
life.     It  begins  : — 

I  take  my  life  with  my  hands. 

You  shall  not  touch,  you  shall  not  see  : 

I  hold  it  there  away  from  you, 
The  fitful  shining  soul  in  me. 

Ah,  but  you  do  not  know  'tis  hid, 

Because  you  did  not  know  'twas  there; 

You  look  along  the  curving  lip, 

Search  the  deep  eyes,  and  touch  the  hair, 

And  cry,  "  Oh  love  me,  woman,  love 

Your  eyes  are  stars,  your  mouth  a  flower  " ; 

And  all  the  while  a  low  voice  says, 
"  This  is  a  fool  without  the  power 

To  look  beneath  and  find  a  free 
Unfettered  spirit  serving  none, 
A  heart  that  loves,  and  does  not  love, 
A  space  untrod  by  any  one." 

So  let  us  keep  our  silences  ! 

I'll  honour  yours,  or  mine  will  break  ; 
And  you,  guard  well  the  sacredness 

Of  mine  for  your  own  soul's  shrine's  sake. 

These  are   only  flashes  of  ideas,   but  they 


THREE   WRITERS   OF   VERvSE       251 

will  suffice.  The  Australian  woman  of  the 
advanced,  intellectual  type  requires  careful 
treatment.  You  may  admire  her,  but  you 
must  not  pretend  to  a  complete  understanding 
of  her.  You  may  marry  her,  but  you  must 
not  expect  to  absorb  her.  She  will  give  you 
confidences,  but  only  when  in  the  mood  ;  she 
may  give  you  kisses,  but  behind  them  there 
is  a  splendid  shining  soul  that  laughs  and 
draws  away — 

A  heart  that  loves,  and  does  not  love, 
A  space  untrod  by  any  one. 


XII 

FOUR    PRIME    MINISTERS 

What  a  piece  of  work  is  a  man  !  how  noble  in  reason  !  how 
infinite  in  faculty  !  in  form  and  moving,  how  express 
and  admirable !  in  action,  how  like  an  angel !  in 
apprehension,  how  like  a  god  ! — Hamlet. 

In  every  important  transaction,  in  every  im- 
personation of  life,  it  is  of  advantage  to  be 
able  to  look  the  part.  History,  when  it 
comes  to  deal  with  the  first  Prime  Minister 
of  Australia,  will  say  that  he  possessed  this 
advantage  in  a  superlative  degree.  We  are 
all  more  or  less  susceptible  to  appearances. 
In  very  many  cases  we  can  judge  only  by 
appearances.  In  very  rare  instances  are  we 
given  the  opportunity  of  getting  behind  the 
outer  shell  of  things  and  judging  personality. 
That  fortune  was  generous  to  the  pioneer 
of  the  Union  movement  in  Australia,  is 
universally  admitted.  He  not  only  spoke 
well,  but  he  looked  well.  He  won  votes  in 
country    districts    before    he    had    uttered    a 

252 


FOUR   PRIME    MINISTERS  253 

syllable.  Some  of  his  critics  said  that  he 
travelled  the  country  on  his  hair.  The  state- 
ment was  at  best  a  half  truth,  and  at  worst  a 
trifle  libellous.  For  the  Goddess,  in  emptying 
her  horn  into  the  lap  of  the  future  Prime 
Minister,  gave  him  something  more  than  an 
idealistic  head  of  hair,  useful  asset  though 
that  has  been.  It  gave  him  a  large  skull- 
index,  a  massive  forehead,  an  impressive  set 
of  features  that  look  their  best  when  on  a 
platform  surmounting  a  vast  concourse  of 
people.  It  gave  him  a  certain  faculty  for 
looking  like  a  great  man.  To  hear  Edmund 
Barton  concluding  one  of  his  elaborate  and 
lawyer-like  periods,  to  watch  him  closing  his 
lips  firmly  and  looking  out  with  that  Roscius- 
like  gaze  over  the  heads  of  the  audience,  is  to 
experience  an  unreasonable  desire  to  rise  up  in 
the  middle  of  the  hall  and  cheer.  The  crowd 
is  always  amenable  to  proper  discipline,  and 
it  has  been  disciplined  by  its  eyesight  into 
believinor  that  it  could  do  no  betLer  than  exalt 
Barton  to  the  highest  offices  within  its  gift. 

To  endeavour  to  get  at  the  personal  and 
intellectual  quality  behind  this  imposing  frame- 
work is  to  receive  a  somewhat  vague,  a  some- 


254  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

what  indeterminate  impression.  Only  the 
Creator  and  Edmund  Barton  himself  know 
what  is  at  the  back  of  those  fine  eyes  when 
the  audience  is  intensely  listening,  and  certain 
well-sounding  phrases  are  telling  their  tale. 
Only  they  know,  and  one  is  no  more  likely 
to  tell  than  is  the  other.  The  word  histrionic 
suggests  itself  in  this  connection.  It  is  not 
by  any  means  a  bad  word ;  it  is  by  no  means 
intended  to  be  used  in  a  disparaging  sense. 
The  first  Prime  Minister  of  Australia  has  a 
knowledge  of  effect ;  he  appreciates  and  loves 
effect.  In  that  fact  lies  his  strenorth  and  his 
weakness,  his  greatness  and  his  less  than 
greatness,  his  virtues  and  his  demerits.  There 
is  no  part  he  could  not  play  if  it  looked  well 
enough,  there  is  no  role  of  which  he  could 
not  seem  worthy,  and  there  is  no  height  to 
which  he  could  not  histrionically  attain.  You 
could  fit  him  with  no  robes,  place  him  in  no 
position  of  dignity,  load  him  with  no  honours 
to  which  he  would  not  appear  entitled. 
Whether  representing  the  Commonwealth  in 
London,  whether  taking  precedence  of  Dukes 
and  Earls  at  a  banquet  at  Guildhall,  whether 
voicing  the  aspirations  of  the  new  Common- 


FOUR   PRIME   MINISTERS  255 

wealth  in  the  councils  of  the  Empire,  whether 
facing  the  flashlights  of  the  Mansion  House, 
or  looking  lofty  rebuke  on  the  disorderly 
ruffians  of  Wooloomooloo,  there  would  never 
be  any  doubt  as  to  his  capacity  for  looking  the 
character.  You  would  say  instinctively  that 
the  best  man  had  been  chosen.  Personally 
he  knows  in  what  his  strength  consists.  He 
has  the  confidence  which  comes  from  the 
consciousness  of  great  powers ;  but  he  knows 
also  that  certain  effects  are  obtained  in  a 
certain  way. 

Putting  his  rare  dramatic  faculty  on  one  side, 
it  is  impossible  to  deny  the  ex-Prime  Minister 
the  credit  of  being  unusually  gifted,  unusually 
able,  unusually  subtle-minded.  This  is  the  type 
of  intellect  from  which  very  little  could  remain 
hid,  provided  that  investigation  seem.ed  worth 
while.  Edmund  Barton,  in  the  course  of  his 
half  century  or  more  on  earth,  has  investigated 
quite  a  number  of  things.  He  has  read  and 
studied  a  great  deal.  His  public  career  has 
been  marked  by  an  erudition  rare  in  any 
country.  But  he  has  owed  less  to  his  reading 
than  to  the  quality  of  his  mind.  It  combines 
in   a  singular   degree   two   contrasted  gifts — 


256  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

that  of  close  analysis  with  that  of  fervent 
enthusiasm,  or  (what  is  the  same  thing  for 
a  public  man)  the  appearance  of  fervent 
enthusiasm.  In  the  thousands  of  speeches 
which  Edmund  Barton  has  delivered  in  this 
and  other  continents,  you  will  look  in  vain 
for  any  crudeness  of  thought,  for  any  narrow- 
ness of  vision,  for  any  lack  of  illuminating 
powers.  The  daily  newspaper  men  of  Australia 
know  well  enough  how  the  ex-Prime  Minister's 
utterances  used  to  be  inlaid  thought  on  thought, 
word  upon  word,  qualifying  phrase  on  qualify- 
ing phrase.  There  was  an  absence  of  direct- 
ness, often,  but  there  was  never  an  absence 
of  mentality  or  of  idea.  When  a  man  of 
such  impressive  gifts  and  of  such  histrionic 
faculty  undertakes  to  play  Peter  the  Hermit ; 
when  he  says  that  such  and  such  a  thing 
ought  to  take  place ;  when  he  declares,  as 
he  did  in  the  Sydney  Town  Hall  on  a 
memorable  occasion,  that,  "  God  means  to 
give  us  this  Federation  " — for  all  the  world  as 
though  he  had  received  a  direct  communica- 
tion from  the  Almighty  on  the  subject  — 
the  result  on  the  average  individual  is  usually 
convincing,  not  to  say  overwhelming. 


FOUR   PRIME   MINISTERS  257 

The  less  than  complete  political  success  of 
Edmund    Barton   must    be   attributed,   not   to 
his  intellectual   qualities,  but  to  his  character. 
It   was   his    character   that,  from    the    day   of 
his    great    appointment,    fought    against   him. 
The   fact    is    that   he    possessed    too    good    a 
character.       A    worse   man    would   have   held 
office  longer,   if  not  with    better   results ;   his 
conspicuous  lack  of  badness,  of  hardness,   of 
callousness,  was  his  chief  enemy.     It    is    not 
to  be  assumed,  because  this  fact  was  so,  that 
the   great   advocate  of  Australian   Union  set 
himself  to   live    a   life  of  austerity  to    which 
the  vaunted  virtues  of  Edward  the  Confessor 
or  of  a  modern    college   of   Cardinals   would 
be  as  riotous  excess.     He  had  his  redeeming 
faults,  and,  unless  the  Supreme   Court  Bench 
has  scourged  them  out  of  him,  has  them  now. 
But  they  were  not  the  faults   that  tell  most 
in  the  strenuous   business    of   Party  warfare  ; 
they  were   not  the   faults  that  help  a  man  to 
vanquish  his  deadliest  enemxies.     Sir  Edmund 
Barton    was    not   quite    cunning    enough,    or, 
rather,   he  would  not  stoop  low    enough ;   he 
was  not  hard  enough,  he  was  not  unscrupulous 
enough ;    there    was    much    of    the    Macbeth 


R 


258  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

temper  in  him ;  what  he  wanted  highly,  he 
wanted  hoHly,  or,  if  not  hoHly,  at  any  rate 
respectably.  Whether  from  inherent  principle 
or  because  he  was  averse  of  certain  lines  of 
conduct,  or  because  the  aii  bono  precept  had 
struck  too  deep  a  root  in  his  philosophy,  he 
would  not  try  ways  that  were  open  to  him. 
He  compromised,  conceded,  refined,  and  yielded 
more  than  once.  In  his  place  in  the  House 
he  was  always  a  splendid,  an  impressive  figure  ; 
but  the  bull-dog  tenacious  quality  that  is  the 
possession  of  many  lesser  men  was  never  his. 
When  he  took  a  seat  on  the  Supreme  Court 
Bench,  it  was  recognised  that  Parliament  had 
lost  the  man  best  worth  looking  at  within  its 
walls,  but  it  was  recognised  also  that  the 
probabilities  of  complete  success  were  brighter 
for  him  in  the  new  sphere  than  in  the  old. 

To  speak  of  Alfred  Deakin,  the  second 
man  to  hold  ofiice  as  Prime  Minister  of 
Australia,  is  to  speak  of  a  unique  personality. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  Nature,  when  it  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  giving  an  Alfred  Deakin 
to  the  world,  intended  him  to  be  much  dis- 
liked. It  specially  designed  him  for  that 
purpose.     To  begin  with,  it  gave  him  all  those 


FOUR   PRIME   MINISTERS  259 

agreeable  and  outwardly  attractive  qualities 
which  make  a  man  suspected  by  his  fellows. 
As  in  the  case  of  Byron,  all  the  fairies  were 
bidden  to  his  cradle.  They  came  in  smiling 
enough  fashion,  but  they  had  a  malignant 
purpose.  So  it  was  that  the  future  Prime 
Minister  was  loaded  with  gifts  and  graces 
intended  to  drag  him  down.  He  grew  up 
tall  and  straight  and  comely  to  look  upon. 
A  quick-minded,  receptive,  intelligent  man  of 
ideas,  he  was  voted  a  most  agreeable  person 
to  talk  to.  No  one  could  quote  the  romantic 
poets  more  aptly,  or  talk  the  language  of 
culture  with  better  accent  and  discretion. 
When  he  went  upon  a  platform,  words  flowed 
from  him  in  a  silver  stream  ;  when  he  stood 
for  Parliament,  audiences  felt  that  they  were 
being  honoured  above  their  deserts.  He  was 
member  of  the  Victorian  Legislative  Assembly 
at  twenty-three.  Minister  of  the  Crown  at 
twenty-seven,  Senior  Representative  of  the 
Imperial  Conference  in  London  before  he 
was  thirty  -  one,  member  of  the  National 
Australian  Convention  four  years  later,  and 
Prime  Minister  of  the  Commonwealth  when 
he  was  forty-seven.     His  flatterers  have  com- 


26o  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

bined  with  Nature  to  do  their  worst :  there  Is 
nothing  on  which  he  has  not  been  com- 
pUmented,  from  his  management  of  the  affairs 
of  a  nation  to  his  smile,  or  from  his  oratory 
to  the  way  in  which  he  holds  the  hand  of  a 
lady  at  a  dance.  When  he  made  his  first 
official  visit  to  London  the  late  Queen  Victoria 
enquired,  in  a  sentence  that  became  famous, 
whether  there  were  many  men  like  Alfred 
Deakin  in  the  Australian  continent.  He  has 
been  belauded  impartially  and  comprehensively 
as  an  Adonis  and  a  Demosthenes,  as  a  Caius 
Gracchus  and  a  Marcus  Aurelius,  as  a  Beau 
Brummell  and  a  William  Pitt.  It  Is  no  wonder 
that  newspaper  men,  knowing  him  only  by 
repute,  and  seeing  him  for  the  first  time  rise  in 
his  place  in  Parliament,  have  shuddered  Inwardly 
to  think  what  manner  of  Insufferable  and  awful 
person  such  a  petted  Individual  must  be. 

Yet  Alfred  Deakin,  to  do  him  justice,  has 
struggled  manfully  against  his  disadvan- 
tages. Nature  intended  him  to  be  disliked, 
undoubtedly,  but  it  is  well  -  nigh  impossible 
to  dislike  him.  He  has  fought  a  great  and, 
on  the  whole,  a  successful  battle  against  the 
load  of  adulation  that  has  been  pressed  upon 


FOUR  PRIME  MINISTERS  261 

him.  This  circumstance  must  always  stand 
to  his  credit,  while  it  explains  a  great  deal 
that  would  otherwise  be  incomprehensible. 
With  every  inducement  to  develop  into  a 
snob,  he  has  made  conscientious  efforts  not 
to  become  one.  Any  unknown  and  undis- 
tinguished person,  aware  of  the  blighting 
effects  of  success  on  the  average  temperament, 
would  hesitate  to  approach  Alfred  Deakin. 
He  would  say  that  such  a  man  could  not 
retain  his  sense  of  proportion,  could  not  judge 
except  by  appearances.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  Prime  Minister  is  at  his  best  when  talking 
to  little-known  people.  If  you  happen  to  be 
a  newspaper  reporter,  travelling  in  the  same 
train  with  Mr  Deakin — and  the  present  writer 
has  often  been  in  that  position — you  need  not 
bother  either  to  entertain  him  or  to  keep  out 
of  his  way.  It  is  more  than  likely,  unless 
circumstances  keep  him  otherwise  occupied, 
that  he  will  make  it  his  business  to  entertain 
you.  There  are  certain  qualities  he  recognises. 
He  has  always  time  to  spare  for  a  man  who 
is  intelligent  and  earnest  and  anxious  to  get 
on.  He  does  not  worship  success ;  because 
he  has  had  too  much  of  it,  he  knows  how  to 


262  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

value  it.  My  own  opinion  is  that  Alfred 
Deakin  is  intensely  tired  of  all  this  talk  of 
himself  as  a  "silver-tongued  orator."  If  some 
one  could  convince  him  that  he  was  not  really 
an  orator  at  all,  and  had  only  a  blundering 
acquaintance  with  the  fine  points  of  the  English 
language,  he  would  be  intensely  grateful.  I 
remember  an  incident,  slight  but  significant, 
which  took  place  when  he  was  moving,  in 
presence  of  a  full  and  adoring  House,  the 
second  reading  of  his  High  Court  Bill.  There 
was  only  one  individual — a  rash  and  sacrilegious 
individual — who  ventured  to  interject.  The 
House  was  astonished ;  one  or  two  members 
looked  as  if  they  expected  the  roof  to  fall. 
The  Speaker's  wrath  blazed  out  against  the 
offender,  but  Mr  Deakin  took  the  latter's  part. 
"  It  was  a  friendly  interjection,  sir,"  was  his 
comment,  as  he  replied  to  the  rash  person's 
remark.  The  episode  may  have  been  trifling, 
but  at  least  it  went  to  show  that  Mr  Deakin 
is  weary  of  his  very  remarkable  reputation  ; 
that  he  dislikes  being  looked  upon  as  either 
a  tin  god  or  a  hot-house  flower,  and  that  he 
would  welcome  anything  that  brought  him  to 
the  ordinary  level  of  political  war. 


FOUR   PRIME   MINISTERS  263 

It  is  necessary  to  get  away  from  the  glamour 
of  Alfred  Deakin's    oratory,  and   the   shining 
white  light  of  his  character,  in  order  to  arrive 
at  some  reasonable  estimate  of  his   value  as 
a   politician.     On    the    latter   subject   a   great 
deal  has  been  written,  and  a  great  deal  could 
be  written,  not  all  of  it  in  the  language  of  ex- 
travagant eulogy.    It  is  said  that  the  "  tempers  " 
of  the  man  of  words  and  of  the  man  of  action 
are  necessarily  distinct.     That  may  or  may  not 
be  the  case.     What  is  certain,  is  that  there  is 
no  instance  on  record  of  a  politician  combining 
such  a  gift  of  speech  as  Deakin's  with  an  equal 
faculty  for  wise,  clear,  vigorous,  and  resolutely 
determined  action.     As  a  State  Minister,  this 
darling   of  the    gods   was   chiefly  remarkable 
for  what  he  wished  to  do,  but  failed  to  do,  in 
connection   with    Victorian    immigration.     He 
had  a  great  poetic  conception  of  what  might 
be  achieved  in  the  arid   regions  of  Northern 
Victoria  by  letting  in  healing  streams  of  water, 
and  causing  wildernesses  to  rejoice  and  blossom 
as   the   rose.     He   constructed  channels,    built 
reservoirs,    and  expended  public   money ;    but 
the  channels  ran  dry,   the    reservoirs  became 
barren,    and   the   local    bodies    repudiated  the 


264  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

debt.  It  was  a  splendid  failure  on  the 
Minister's  part,  but  none  the  less  a  failure. 
As  an  advocate  of  Federation,  Mr  Deakin 
was  a  complete  success.  Eloquence  was 
required,  and  it  was  forthcoming.  As  Prime 
Minister  of  the  Commonwealth,  Mr  Deakin 
did  little  during  his  first  term — as  a  matter 
of  fact  he  had  time  to  do  very  little — but  he 
spoke  finely,  and  went  down  heroically  on  a 
question  of  abstract  principle.  If  he  had 
vanquished  a  continent  he  could  not  have 
been  more  vociferously  applauded  on  the 
manner  of  his  downfall.  He  has  now  another 
magnificent  opportunity,  and  it  remains  to  be 
seen  how  he  will  use  it.  If  he  has  done 
nothing  else  he  has  lifted  the  dull  business 
of  politics  out  of  the  rut  of  the  commonplace. 
And  that  of  itself  is  no  mean  achievement. 

The  third  Prime  Minister  of  the  Common- 
wealth was,  and  still  is,  the  chosen  of  the 
organised  democrats  of  the  continent.  Careful 
observation  of  Mr  Watson,  both  in  and  out 
of  Parliament,  impels  the  writer  to  the  reflec- 
tion that  Nature  intended  him  to  be  undis- 
tinguished. The  reasons  for  coming  to  this 
conclusion  are  not  far  to  seek.     To  begin  with, 


FOUR   PRIME  MINISTERS  265 

Mr  Watson  has  no  aggressive,  or  specially 
assertive  characteristics,  whether  physical  or 
mental.  He  has  not  the  gift  of  dazzling 
beauty  on  the  one  hand,  nor  the  still  more 
useful  gift  of  excessive  ugliness  on  the  other. 
In  appearance  he  is  just  an  ordinary,  good- 
looking,  well-set,  upright  man.  In  times  of 
crisis  there  is  nothing  so  calculated  to  help  its 
possessor  as  fanaticism ;  and  Mr  Watson 
cannot  boast  of  being  a  fanatic.  Fortune  was 
never  kind  enough  to  him  to  treat  him  very 
unkindly.  He  was  never  assisted  in  his 
campaign  on  behalf  of  Labour  by  any  act  of 
injustice  or  sense  of  gross  personal  wrong  at 
the  hands  of  privileged  persons.  No  friendly 
capitalist  helped  to  make  him  a  statesman  by 
turning  his  wife  and  family  out  of  doors.  He 
has  had  a  few  ups  and  downs,  but  they  have 
been  of  a  minor  sort.  Undoubtedly  it  was  the 
intention  of  Nature  that  he  should  o-q  throuo-h 
life  without  attracting  too  much  notice,  that  he 
should  set  up  type  and  cultivate  a  garden,  and 
assist  in  his  spare  moments  at  those  illuminat- 
ing debates  that  shake  to  their  foundations 
the  suburbs  of  Carlton  and  of  Wooloomooloo. 
These   original    designs    have    been    upset. 


266  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

Certain  political  currents  took  possession  of 
Mr  Watson,  and  he  could  not  get  away  from 
them.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  did  not  wish  to 
get  away  from  them.  He  was  shrewd  enough 
to  realise  what  an  important  bearing  they 
might  have  on  the  future  of  a  continent,  and 
incidendy  on  the  future  of  Chris.  Watson. 
The  Federation  movement  was  a  timely  one, 
so  far  as  he  was  concerned.  The  inauguration 
of  the  Commonwealth  Parliament  brouo-ht  with 
it  the  division  of  political  parties  into  Free 
Trade  and  Protectionist,  with  neither  of  the 
two  sides  sufficiently  strong  to  crush  or  always 
to  out- vote  the  other.  It  was  a  great  oppor- 
tunity for  a  Labour  party,  which  did  not 
care  two  constitutional  straws  about  either 
Free  Trade  or  Protection,  to  hold  the  balance 
of  power,  and  practically  to  usurp  the  functions 
of  Government.  But  the  Labour  party  wanted 
a  leader.  It  wanted  a  man  who  would  be 
sufficiently  strong  for  the  purpose — and  it  was 
a  tremendously  important  purpose  —  but  not 
one  who  would  err  from  excess  of  strength.  It 
did  not  want  a  notorious  man,  or  a  violent 
man,  or  a  man  whose  name  would  cause  any 
sort  of  alarm.     It  did  not  want  a  man  who  had 


FOUR   PRIME    MINISTERS  267 

been  too  extensively  advertised  in  connection 
with  socialistic  movements  in  the  past.  It  did 
not  want  a  distinsfuished  anarchist  or  a  social 
outlaw.  It  wanted  neither  a  Danton  nor  a 
Robespierre.  It  discovered  !Mr  Watson,  and 
it  has  made  the  most  of  the  discover)*. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  this  man,  who 
was  intended  to  be  nothing,  has  become  the 
most  important  political  figure  in  the  English- 
speaking  world  —  or,  at  least,  of  the  English- 
speaking  world  south  of  the  Equator.  That 
is  not  to  assert  that  he  has  been  the  most 
talked  of,  or  has  wielded  the  most  power. 
But  the  movement  that  he  leads  in  Australia 
is  the  most  momentous  political  -  cum  -  social 
movement  known  to  the  present  age,  and  in 
Australia  it  has  gone  further  than  in  any  other 
part  of  the  British  dominions.  It  happened 
three  years  ago,  for  the  first  time  on  record, 
that  a  man  who  was  the  ?  vowed  leader  of  a 
socialistic  party  —  for  the  Labour  party  is 
socialistic  in  aim  and  purpose,  if  not  always 
in  detail  and  in  method — was  chosen  as  the 
political  head  of  four  million  English-speaking 
people.  That  man  was  Watson.  Without 
much  notice  and  without   much   warning,   he 


26S  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

found  himself  raised  to  a  giddy  height.  All 
eyes  were  upon  him,  all  responsibility  rested 
with  him,  all  honours  that  were  the  gift  of 
the  electors  were  showered  on  his  head.  It 
was  a  trying  situation,  and  the  predictions 
of  immediate  and  disastrous  failure  were 
numerous.  However,  the  expected  did  not 
happen,  and  the  deluge,  though  on  general 
principles  due  to  arrive,  held  off.  Mr  Watson 
as  head  of  the  Commonwealth  Ministry  acted 
precisely  as  he  had  acted  when  private 
member,  or  when  leader  of  the  irrepressible 
Labour  party.  Probably  he  knew  that  a 
tremendous  head  of  limelight  was  being 
turned  upon  him ;  but  he  gave  no  outward 
evidence  of  the  knowledge.  If  he  suffered 
from  self  -  consciousness,  he  kept  the  circum- 
stance from  the  world. 

The  man's  whole  career  is  an  object  lesson 
in  the  importance  of  keeping  cool.  Any  study 
of  the  ex-compositor's  character  must  impress 
one  fact  on  the  mind.  It  is  a  terrible  thino- 
to  suffer  from  what  the  French  call  /t*/^  montee ; 
it  is  a  magnificent  thing  to  be  able  to  keep 
cool.  Whether  Mr  Watson's  coolness  is  the 
result  of  temperament  or  of  will  power,  might 


FOUR   PRIME    MINISTERS  269 

be  difficult  to  say.  It  is  more  than  probable 
that  it  is  due  to  the  latter.  So  far  as  tempera- 
ment is  concerned,  the  man  is  impressionable, 
and  many  sided.  You  can  tell  by  glancing  at 
his  good-looking,  half-oval,  half-practical  face, 
that  he  has  sensuous  as  well  as  mental  per- 
ceptions ;  that  he  is  not  naturally  a  stoic ; 
that  the  taste  of  power  and  pleasure  is  not 
wasted  on  him;  that  "the  laurel,  the  palms, 
the  psean "  are  to  him  something  more  than 
names.  If  it  were  merely  a  question  of 
temperament,  he  could  let  himself  go  with  the 
best  or  the  worst  of  us.  But  the  man  is 
master  of  himself.  If  Nature  and  preliminary 
training  have  not  given  him  all  things ;  if 
certain  magnetic  gifts  such  as  oratorical  fire  and 
intellectual  fervour  are  not  his  ;  if  it  be  that 

Knowledge  to  his  eyes  her  ample  page, 

Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll, 

it  is  yet  a  fact  that  he  has  a  marvellous  faculty 
for  showing  the  mens  cequa  in  arduis,  for 
keeping  his  head,  for  being  true  to  himself  in 
every  emergency  and  at  any  hour.  Tempera- 
ment may  have  something  to  do  with  the 
faculty ;  but  it  seems  to  be  mainly  the  result 
of  a  resolute   and   altogether  admirable   will. 


270  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

People  who  know  Mr  Watson  best  have  never 
been  able  to  detect  any  difference  in  his 
manner  as  applicant  for  work  in  Sydney,  as 
political  chief  of  a  sectional  party,  or  as  head 
of  the  Commonwealth  Government.  He  per- 
formed the  impossible  when,  for  the  better 
part  of  a  session,  he  led  the  House  of 
Representatives  in  the  face  of  a  large  and 
hostile  majority.  A  man  who  listened  to  the 
extremists  behind  him,  a  man  who  could  not 
think  and  reason  with  bullets  whistling  all 
round  him,  could  not  have  done  this  for  a 
week.  Mr  Watson  did  it  for  four  months, 
and  he  did  it  very  well.  It  is  more  than  likely 
he  will  have  the  opportunity  of  doing  it  again. 
The  fourth  member  of  this  famous  quartette 
is  Mr  George  Houston  Reid.  It  is  melancholy 
to  think  what  vast  quantities  of  bad  writing 
and  indifferent  caricaturing  have  been  called 
forth  by  this  Prime  Minister  of  the  Common- 
wealth of  Australia.  Melancholy,  because  the 
subject  is  such  a  good  one  that  it  should  have 
been  reserved  for  adequate  and  original  treat- 
ment. It  is  only  possible  now  to  repeat  a 
few  truisms  which  are  known  and  recosfnised 
of  all  men.     One  of  these  truisms  is  that  Mr 


FOUR   PRIME   MINISTERS  271 

Reid  represents  the  apotheosis  of  intelligence, 
the  triumph  of  mind  over  matter.  He  is  not 
beautiful,  or  graceful,  or  slim,  or  heroic-looking. 
No  one  ever  accused  him  of  beino-  a  elass  of 
fashion,  or  a  mould  of  form.  The  ingenious 
Mr  Crosland  tells  us  that  a  man  has  no 
business  with  a  figure ;  that  it  is  his  duty  to 
look  like  a  clothes-prop  in  youth,  and  like  a 
balloon  in  middle  life.  Mr  Reid  and  Mr 
Crosland  are  at  one  in  this  matter,  with  the 
difference  that  the  Premier  has  put  into 
practice  what  the  mentally  and  physically 
smaller  person  merely  suggested.  Certain 
well-meaning  but  bat-eyed  individuals  have 
accused  the  ex-Prime  Minister  of  beino- 
inconsistent ;  they  point  out — good,  worthy 
souls  ! — that  he  is  found  talking  in  favour  of  a 
project  at  one  time,  and  talking  against  it  at 
another.  These  people,  well  meaning  as  they 
are,  do  not  understand.  Mr  Reid,  for  his 
part,  does  understand.  We  see  here  the  whole 
secret  of  his  vast  popularity,  of  his  wonderful 
rise  to  power.  He  understands.  When  one 
recollects  how  few  people  understand,  there 
is  little  further  to  be  said. 

The    ex- Prime    Minister    is    a    v/onderful 


272  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

talker ;  and  for  want  of  anything  better  to 
talk  to,  he  talks  to  public  audiences.  The 
general  impression  seems  to  be  that  he  enjoys 
himself  on  these  occasions ;  that  he  likes  to 
hear  the  plaudits  that  greet  his  appearance, 
the  laughter  that  echoes  to  his  jests,  even  the 
interjections  that  he  turns  to  such  good 
account.  But  the  writer's  opinion,  derived 
not  only  from  watching  Mr  Reid  on  a  platform, 
but  from  private  conversation  with  him,  is 
that  he  knows  himself  to  be  mentally  adapted 
for  other  and  better  things.  What,  after  all, 
does  the  crowd  know  or  care  about  such  gifts 
of  speech,  such  exquisite  verbal  delicacy  and 
grace  as  this  man  possesses  ?  True,  they  can 
appreciate  what  he  gives  them,  for  he  is  wise 
enough  to  give  what  they  require,  not  what 
he  himself  knows  to  be  most  select  and 
valuable.  Whenever  I  think  of  what  is  rare 
and  beautiful  in  the  mind  or  heart  of  woman ; 
whenever  I  think  of  those  gracious  and  grateful 
beings  who  flitted  across  this  planet  and  died 
in  disappointment  because  they  had  found  no 
intellectual  mate  ;  I  regret  that  a  mysterious 
Providence  did  not  put  me  in  their  path  after 
endowing  me  with  Mr  Reid  s  gift  of  speech.     It 


FOUR   PRIME    MINISTERS  273 

is  a  pity  that  such  talent  should  be  dissipated 
among  the  vulgar ;  it  is  a  pity  that  it  should 
be  harnessed  to  anv  political  engine ;  it  is  ten 
times  a  pity  that  it  ihould  have  so  often  to  put 
up  with  the  wrong  audience,  the  wrong  hour, 
and  the  wrong  place. 

Like  all  great  men,  Mr  Reid  has  been 
responsible  for  some  erroneous  impressions. 
One  of  the  most  popular  and  widespread  of 
these  is  that  he  is,  by  instinct  and  tempera- 
ment, a  humorist.  Nothing  could  be  further 
from  the  truth.  The  late  head  of  the  Common- 
wealth Government  is  undoubtedly  the  most 
serious  man  that  the  political  exigencies  of 
Australia  have  ever  produced.  He  has  too 
much  insight,  too  much  intelligence  not  to  be 
serious.  Every  man  who  possesses  the  faculty 
of  making  other  people  laugh  must  do  so  by 
presenting  an  effective  contrast  to  their  own 
habit  of  thought.  In  other  words,  he  must 
be  as  different  as  possible  from  themselves. 
Mr  Reid  is  entirely  different  in  thought  and 
disposition  from  ninety  -  nine  out  of  every 
hundred  of  those  who  listen  to  him  and  laugh 
with  him.  They  are  volatile,  fickle,  amuse- 
ment-loving ;    he   is  none  of  these.     That   is 


274  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

the  reason  why,  when  he  throws  for  their 
delectation  certain  verbal  pictures  on  a 
rhetorical  screen,  they  laugh  with  such 
boisterous  mirth  and  such  riotous  abandon. 
The  reason  why  Mr  Reid  came  to  take  up  the 
role  of  jester  is  easy  to  understand.  If  he 
followed  out  his  own  inclinations,  he  would 
be  either  a  transcendental  philosopher,  or  a  poet 
of  the  mystic  school.  He  would  never  speak 
a  word  about  politics,  and  he  would  never 
make  a  joke.  He  is  too  clever  not  to  recognise 
the  essential  meanness  of  politics  ;  he  is  too 
sombre  in  disposition  not  to  revolt  from  the 
tinkling  merriment  of  a  crowd.  But  he  has 
never  got  quite  free  from  the  idea  that  success 
is  a  desirable  thing  to  obtain.  It  is  the  one 
infirmity  that  sticks  to  him.  He  knows  that 
distinction  for  a  man,  physically  constituted  as 
he  is,  is  not  to  be  won  through  the  channels 
of  transcendentalism,  or  by  the  agency  of  the 
lofty  rhyme.  He  knows  that  for  a  clever  man 
the  best  and  surest  way  to  success  is  to  play 
the  fool.  That  is  why  he  has  talked  on  such 
a  commonplace  subject  as  politics  to  tens  of 
thousands  of  people ;  that  is  why  he  has  so 
successfully,  so  brilliantly  played  the  fool. 


FOUR   PRIME   MINISTERS  275 

As  already  stated,  Mr  Reid  is  too  intelligent 
to  be  wedded  exclusively  to  any  one  faith  or 
shibboleth.  But  if  he  has  one  political  leaning 
over  another,  it  is  in  favour  of  Protection.  It 
is  true  there  is  a  popular  idea  to  the  contrary ; 
but  then  many  popular  ideas  flourish  on  the 
most  unsubstantial  foundations.  There  is  no 
difficulty  whatever  in  showing  that  Mr  Reid's 
one  marked  characteristic  as  a  statesman  is  his 
fondness  for  Protection.  The  importers  of 
New  South  Wales  chose  to  make  him  their 
idol.  It  was  not  for  him  to  object.  It  was 
apparent  to  him  as  an  intelligent  man  that  if 
the  importer  was  no  better,  he  was  no  worse 
than  other  people.  So  it  came  about  that 
Mr  Reid  and  Free  Trade  went  hand  in  hand 
for  quite  a  number  of  years.  But  to  be  strictly 
devoted  to  one  faith,  is  to  argue  oneself  blind 
to  the  merits  of  other  faiths,  and  therefore 
mentally  defective.  To  prove  his  catholicity 
of  taste,  Mr  Reid  put  a  few  doses  of  Protec- 
tion into  the  Free  Trade  dish  which  his  fellow 
colonists  were  asking  at  his  hands.  When  at 
a  later  stage  the  invitation  came  to  him  to 
drop  fiscalism  and  merge  his  free  trade  in  the 
high-tariffism  of  Mr  Deakin,  he  gladly  did  so. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  he  was  getting  tired 


276  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

of  the  old  formulas.  How  could  it  be  other- 
wise ?  Mr  Reid  owes  it  to  himself,  and  to 
his  reputation  as  a  man  of  broad  views,  to 
give  Protection  a  turn,  and  in  that  direction, 
beyond  doubt,  his  desire  lies.  There  is  a 
foolish  idea,  fatuously  and  blatantly  insisted 
upon  by  newspaper  writers,  that,  because  a 
man  has  been  harnessed  to  a  party  at  one 
stage  of  his  career  he  should  remain  harnessed 
to  it  for  ever.  The  only  universal  genius  is 
he  who  has  come  to  recognise  the  essential 
quackery  and  futility  of  all  political  faiths  now 
being  foisted  upon  the  community.  I  do  not 
assert  that  Mr  Reid  is,  or  is  not,  a  universal 
genius.  I  merely  repeat  that  he  is  a  man  who 
understands.  It  is  possible  to  look  forward 
to  the  time  when  circumstances,  and  his  own 
desire  to  be  impartial,  will  bring  him  out  as 
the  champion  of  Protection  in  Australia.  This 
is  necessary  to  the  complete  and  artistic 
balancinof  of  his  career.  No  one  knows  this 
better  than  himself.  And  whatever  we  say 
of  G.  H.  Reid,  whatever  we  think  of  him, 
whatever  broad  or  narrow  views  we  take  of 
him,  we  are  bound  to  admit  that  he  touches 
nothing,  and  has  touched  nothing,  he  does 
not  adorn. 


XIII 

THE    IMPERIALIST 

Regions  Cresar  never  knew 
Thy  posterity  shall  sway. 

The  Imperialist  plays  an  important  part  in 
the  life  of  Australia.  His  influence  is  to  be 
detected  everywhere.  It  is  not  always  pro- 
claimed in  words  or  manifested  in  deeds ;  but, 
like  a  subde  essence,  it  runs  through  every 
political  and  social  institution  of  the  country. 
No  one  can  pretend  to  understand  what  goes 
on  in  this  part  of  the  world  unless  he  makes 
allowance  for  the  curious  blending  of  the 
Imperialistic  with  the  local  point  of  view.  The 
two  currents  do  not  always  flow  in  unison ; 
but  if  it  were  a  question  of  opposing  forces, 
the  Imperialist  would  always  carry  the  day. 
He  is  predominant  both  in  the  political  and 
in    the    social    world.       He    is    much    stronger 

277 


278  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

than  his  occasional  rival,  the  little  "  Australian." 
He  colours  most  of  the  legislation,  and  in- 
sensibly affects  the  habit  of  thought  of  the 
people.  Take  away  the  Imperialist  from 
Australia,  or  even  reduce  him  to  a  minority, 
and  an  entirely  new  set  of  conditions,  a  fresh 
pathway  of  national  development,  would  come 
immediately  into  view. 

The  man  who  calls  himself  by  this  term, 
or  even  the  man  who,  without  assertiveness, 
acknowledges  that  it  applies  to  him,  is  apt 
to  believe  that  all  who  differ  from  him  are 
small-souled  and  narrow-minded  persons.  He 
is  inclined  to  be  egotistically  self-righteous. 
He  talks  of  Imperialism  as  though  it  were 
not  merely  a  justifiable  political  creed,  but 
something  superior  in  the  realm  of  philosophy, 
something  splendid  in  the  domain  of  morals. 
The  word  itself  is  a  large  and  impressive 
one.  It  conjures  up  wide  expanses  of 
territory,  great  vistas  of  achievement.  It 
affords  unrivalled  opportunities  for  mouth- 
filling  rhetoric  and  for  fine-sounding,  platform 
periods.  Its  every  association  is  calculated 
to  impress  the  receptive  mind.  There  need 
be    no    astonishment,    therefore,    at    the    fact 


THE   IMPERIALIST  279 

that  those  who  confine  themselves  to  the  local 
point  of  view,  and  acknowledge  no  fondness 
for  world-stretching  dominions,  are  not  highly- 
regarded  by  the  majority  in  Australia. 

Yet  it  is  by  no  means  difficult  to  show  that 
the  essential  doctrines  of  Imperialism  are 
incapable  of  defence  either  from  the  rationalist 
or  from  the  ethical  standpoint.  They  are, 
in  fact,  both  illogical  and  immoral.  They  are 
illogical,  because  they  are  based  on  the 
assumption  that  a  wide  expanse  of  territory- 
can  be  better  looked  after  by  a  central 
authority,  than  can  a  relatively  small  district. 
They  ignore  the  elementary  truth  that  every 
community  is  the  best  judge  of  its  own 
requirements.  The  Imperialist  is  not  satisfied 
to  let  any  one  alone.  Every  race,  as  far  as 
practicable,  must  come  under  the  yoke  which 
he  himself  acknowledges.  Every  individual 
must  slumber  under  the  form  of  Government 
which  he  himself  prescribes.  He  believes, 
quite  illogically,  that  his  own  prestige  is  in 
some  fashion  enhanced  whenever  his  country- 
men dethrone  another  potentate  or  lay  hands 
on  a  fresh  piece  of  territory.  He  is  convinced 
that  the  welfare  of  Australia  is  enhanced  by 


28o  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

the  circumstance  that  certain  gentlemen,  living 
at  a  very  remote  distance,  can,  if  they  so 
choose,  veto  some  of  our  most  important 
pieces  of  legislation,  and  overset  some  of  our 
most  intimate  concerns. 

If  it  be  admitted,  as  it  must  be,  that  the 
underlying  principle  of  Imperialism  is  illogical, 
it  will  also  be  admitted  that  the  same  principle 
is  decidedly  immoral.  Every  empire  is  more 
or  less  built  up  by  the  sword.  Every  empire 
is  more  or  less  maintained  in  the  same  fashion. 
And  it  is  an  elementary  truth  that  the  sword 
and  morality  have  nothing  to  do  Vv^ith  each 
other.  We  can  judge  these  things  better 
from  a  distance.  We  can  see  plainly  enough 
that  it  was  wrong  and  immoral  of  Xerxes  to 
wish  to  add  to  his  territories  by  annexing 
Greece ;  that  it  was  grasping  of  Julius  Caesar 
to  reach  out  after  Gaul  and  Britain ;  that  it 
was  wicked  of  Napoleon  to  covet  Egypt ;  and 
that  it  was  sinful  of  Russia  to  lay  hands  on 
Poland  and  Manchuria.  But  we  are  not 
prepared  to  speak  thus  definitely  of  the  moral 
significance  of  another  nation's  attitude  towards 
Cape  Colony  and  Egypt  and  India.  What  we 
do  say  in  that  connection,   is   that  the    white 


THE    IMPERIALIST  281 

man  has  a  burden  to  shoulder  and  a  duty  to 
accomplish.  We  are  inclined  to  get  angry, 
and  to  call  the  strict  moralist — whenever  he 
attempts  to  dictate  the  policy  of  nations  —  a 
narrow-minded,  insufferable  prig.  And  so,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  he  may  be.  But  no  harm 
would  be  done  by  admitting,  in  a  general 
way,  that  the  doctrines  of  Imperialism  and  of 
morality  are  not  precisely  identical. 

But  neither  cold  reason  nor  hard  rules  of 
conduct  can  build  up  and  vitalise  a  nation. 
There  is  such  a  quality  as  sentiment ;  and  it 
is  just  this  quality  that  gives  the  Imperialist 
his  pre-eminent  place.  For  sentiment  always 
has  been,  and  always  will  be,  the  most  useful 
and  valuable,  just  as  it  is  the  most  illogical, 
faculty  that  an  individual  or  a  nation  can 
possess.  When  we  recollect  what  it  has  given 
us  in  the  domain  of  poetry,  of  imaginative 
prose,  of  art,  of  music,  of  sculpture,  we 
reco£rnise  that  los^ic  does  not  deserve  to  be 
mentioned  with  it  in  the  same  breath. 
Sentiment  is  even  greater  than  morality, 
because  it  creates  its  own  morality  —  a 
morality  very  much  finer  and  very  much  truer 
than    that   of    any  conventional   school.     The 


282  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

Imperialist,  therefore,  in  spite  of  his  unreason, 
contains  within  him  a  spark  of  that  which 
illumines  and  creates.  The  sentiment  of 
race,  the  sentiment  of  religion,  the  sentiment 
of  patriotism,  the  sentiment  of  devotion  to  an 
ideal,  to  a  memory,  to  a  national  past,  to  a 
series  of  great  names,  to  a  battlefield,  to  a 
grave — all  this  is,  from  the  logical  point  of 
view,  incapable  of  a  moment's  defence.  It  is 
fantastic,  illusory,  absurd.  But  when  one 
comes  to  think  how  unspeakably  unlovely 
would  be  any  existence  that  was  mapped  out 
by  reason,  and  supported  by  dogma,  and 
guided  from  infantile  beginnings  to  senile 
decay,  by  a  cold  and  brutal  calculation  of  the 
practical  advantages  likely  to  follow  on  certain 
acts,  one  can  only  feel  grateful  that  the 
sentimentalist,  and  not  the  economist  or  the 
calculator,  has  still  the  dominating  voice  in 
the  life  of  the  time. 

The  Imperialist,  therefore,  in  the  sense  now 
being  made  use  of,  is  a  person  to  be  lightly 
regarded  by  disciples  of  Bentham  and  Bain, 
and  to  be  warmly  admired  and  applauded  by 
all  other  sections  of  the  community.  This  is 
he  who,  though  he  has  never  been  within  ten 


THE   IMPERIALIST  283 

thousand  miles  of  Great  Britain,  speaks  of  it 
as  "home,"  and  incidentally  refers  to  the  place 
of  his  birth  as  a  land  of  exile.  This  is  he  who, 
a  few  years  ago,  talked  often  of  the  necessity  of 
wiping  out  the  memory  of  Majuba,  and  who  even 
now  does  not  like  to  be  reminded  of  Nicholson's 
Nek  and  Mag-ersfontein  and  the  Tueela  River. 
As  a  member  of  the  human  race  he  might 
be  proud  to  think  that  at  these  places 
some  farmers,  his  fellow  -  beings,  performed 
praiseworthy  feats  in  the  face  of  tremendous 
odds.  But  the  Imperialist  assumes  that  the 
feats  were  performed  by  the  wrong  people, 
and  is  not  proud  of  them.  This  is  he  who, 
by  virtue  of  some  curious  and  unintelligible 
process,  manages  to  feel  himself  a  larger  and 
more  sublime  personality  because  of  the  fact 
that,  long  before  he  was  born,  men  wearing 
red  uniforms  and  living  at  the  opposite  end 
of  the  world  purchased  with  their  lives  the 
barren  glory  of  Badajoz,  and  stood  unshaken 
through  the  fiery  ordeal  of  Waterloo.  And 
this  is  he  who  refers  to  such  and  such  an 
action  as  conceived  in  the  interests  of  that 
large  and  vague  thing  known  as  the  Empire  ; 
who  is  fond  of  talking  about  what  "  we  "  ought 


284  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

to  do  in  Afghanistan,  and  what  should  be 
"our  "policy  in  Cochin  China;  who  sublimely 
ignores  the  fact  that  neither  he  himself,  nor 
the  community  in  which  he  lives,  has  any 
more  to  do  with  Afghanistan  and  Cochin 
China  than  it  has  with  the  North  Pole  or 
the  mountains  of  the  Moon. 

"Even  a  Cecil,"  observed  an  Irish  member 
in  the  House  of  Commons  recently,  "  will  not 
die  for  the  Meridian  of  Greenwich."  The 
remark  illustrated  a  great  truth.  A  man 
will  only  die  for  something  that  has  a  history, 
for  something  that  calls  forth  an  emotion,  for 
something  that  appeals  to  his  individual  or 
his  national  pride.  He  will  not  die  for  the 
Meridian  of  Greenwich,  any  more  than  he 
will  die  for  the  peak  of  Kosciusko,  or  for  the 
Sydney  Town  Hall,  or  for  the  Melbourne 
Parliamentary  buildings,  or  for  the  Federal 
tariff.  Of  what  avail  is  it  for  a  poet  to 
write  about  the  star  of  Australia?  It  is 
likely  enough  that  the  star  will  arise  some 
day,  and  it  is  perfectly  certain  that  the  event, 
when  it  does  take  place,  will  be  heralded  by 
clouds  of  war.  Every  national  constellation 
must  rise,  if  it  rises  at  all,  from  such  a  cradle. 


THE   IMPERIALIST  285 

But  in  the  meantime  there  is  nothing  in  the 
history  of  Australia  to  awake  sentiment  of  any 
sort — unless  it  be  a  sentiment  of  disoust  at 
the  manner  in  which  the  aboriginals  were 
treated,  and  of  shame  for  the  early  records 
of  Botany  Bay.  A  nation  must  have  some 
ties  of  remembrance  and  of  vanity  to  hold  it 
together.  Australia  is  still  mainly  Imperialistic 
— because  of  the  force  of  heredity,  because  of 
the  triumph  of  unreason,  and  because  of  the 
part  that  sentiment  plays  in  the  life  of  the 
people. 

Apart  from  the  genuine  Imperialist  into 
whose  faith  the  calculation  of  material  advan- 
tages does  not  consciously  enter,  there  is  the 
professing  Imperialist  of  the  political  type. 
This  individual  is  to  be  met  with  in  Parliament, 
at  public  meetings,  and  in  the  newspapers. 
Often  his  opinions  are  elaborately  thought 
out,  and  now  and  again  they  are  adequately 
expressed.  Imagination  may  have  a  part, 
but  not  the  leading  part,  in  his  composition. 
Neither  is  he  a  product  of  any  one  emotion, 
or  set  of  emotions.  He  has  usually  a  large 
measure  of  prudence,  and  always  a  certain 
capacity  for  looking  ahead.     He  talks  a  great 


286  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

deal  about  the  balance  of  power  in  Europe, 
and  the  possible  shifting  of  that  balance  owing 
to  Japanese  successes  in  the  Far  East.  He 
advocates  a  larger  Australian  contribution  to 
the  British  Navy,  and  remarks  with  solemn 
emphasis  that  the  only  guarantee  of  safety 
held  by  this  Southern  continent — the  continent 
which  he  inhabits — is  afforded  by  the  existence 
of  English  ships  of  war.  This  political  and 
professing  Imperialist  will  declaim  from  any 
number  of  platforms  on  the  necessity  of  keeping 
intact  all  the  existing  bonds  of  Empire,  and  of 
manufacturing  as  many  new  ones  as  possible. 
He  foresees  a  yellow  peril,  a  Russian  peril,  a 
German  peril,  an  American  peril — in  fact  any 
number  of  perils.  He  is  strenuously  alive  to 
the  possibility,  in  fact  the  imminent  probability, 
of  some  nation,  whether  it  be  white,  brown, 
black,  or  yellow,  casting  acquisitive  eyes  on  the 
new  and  tempting  and  half  unpeopled  continent. 
Though  not  imaginative,  he  can  picture  the 
probable  result  of  a  conflict  between  Togo's 
vessels  and  the  auxiliary  Australian  squadron. 
And  he  is  sincerely  desirous  that  nothing 
should  occur,  for  the  present,  to  mar  existing 
relations  with  Great  Britain,  or  to  cause  the 


THE   IMPERIALIST  287 

habit  of  reliance  upon  the  most  powerful  navy 
in  the  world  to  cease. 

The  objection  to  this  variety  of  Imperialist 
is  that  he  cannot  be  relied  upon.  For  the 
motive  that  animates  him  is  self-interest. 
And  national  self-interest  is  not  a  whit  more 
dependable,  while  it  is  even  less  admirable, 
than  the  self-interest  of  individuals.  It  may 
be  that  a  certain  line  of  conduct  appears,  for 
the  time  being,  advantageous.  Then  the 
balance  of  power  is  shifted,  and  a  diametrically 
opposite  course  becomes  advisable.  The  unit 
may  be  forgiven  for  seeking  the  unit's  good. 
It  is  a  way  that  units  have.  But  from  the 
nation,  or  from  the  collective  spirit  of  the 
nation,  something  more  lofty  and  inspiring 
might  be  expected.  The  political  Imperialist 
reduces  everything  to  a  formula.  He  may 
deal  in  high-sounding  phrases,  but  he  does 
not  mean  them.  He  may  not  tell  his  audience, 
but  he  tells  himself  that  a  certain  course  of 
action  pays  best.  He  has  no  illusions.  He 
is  not  an  idealist.  He  does  not  pretend  to 
be  heroic.  His  eye  is  ever  upon  the  main 
chance.  So  far  from  being  a  buttress  of 
Imperialism  he  is  in  reality  its  chief  danger 


288  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

—  the  chief  danger,  that  is  to  say,  to  its 
existence  as  a  permanent  factor  in  the  Hfe 
of  the  world.  For  undervaluing  sentiment 
as  he  does,  dealing  with  supposed  advantages 
and  disadvantages  as  he  does,  he  is  morally 
certain  to  adjust  his  views  to  successive 
changes  on  the  international  horizon.  The 
moment  Australia  becomes,  in  his  opinion, 
strong  enough  to  protect  herself;  the  moment 
she  can  afford  to  be  independent  of  Downing 
Street ;  the  moment  she  is  powerful  enough 
to  resent  interference ;  that  moment  becomes, 
in  the  view  of  the  political  Imperialist,  the 
moment  to  cast  adrift.  Manifestly  the  bonds 
must  be  different  from  those  of  temporary  self- 
interest  if  they  are  to  have  any  holding  power. 
There  remains  the  important  problem  of 
improving  the  position — assuming  that  it  can 
be  improved  —  from  the  Imperialist  point  of 
view.  We  want,  first  of  all,  to  know  where 
we  are.  Our  relations  to  Great  Britain  are 
of  two  kinds,  the  one  definite  and  precise, 
the  other  indefinite  and  somewhat  vague. 
The  political  relationship  is  the  definite  one, 
the  one  that  exists  on  paper,  the  one  that 
is    subject    at   any   moment    to    constitutional 


THE   IMPERIALIST  289 

readjustment.  It  implies  a  certain  amount 
of  formalism,  a  certain  hint  of  subserviency, 
even  a  certain  suggestion  of  force.  It  means 
that  we  cannot  legislate  on  all  subjects  exactly 
as  we  like.  It  means,  also,  the  payment  of 
a  certain  sum  of  money  in  the  upkeep  of 
Vice-regal  establishments,  and  in  the  contribu- 
tions to  the  British  Navy.  As  a  set  off  to 
this  political  dependence,  and  to  this  necessity 
for  paying  away  occasional  sums  of  money, 
there  are  a  number  of  material  orains.  There 
is  the  commercial  gain  represented  by  the 
protection  of  the  British  flag.  This  is  a 
consideration  that  runs  throughout  the  whole 
domain  of  trade  and  industry,  and  gives  to 
every  transaction  a  security  and  confidence 
that  would  otherwise  be  absent.  Then  there 
is  the  financial  saving  on  the  defence  vote. 
Instead  of  spending  less  than  ;!^900,ooo  a  year 
on  defence  we  should  have  to  spend  several 
millions  if  there  were  no  reliance  on  the 
Imperial  forces.  Further,  there  is  the  social 
advantage — a  great  advantage  in  the  eyes  of 
some  people,  a  negative  advantage  in  the  eyes 
of  others — implied  in  the  presence  of  a  number 
of  titled  personages  who  represent  the  Crown 


290  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

in  Australia,  and  add  greatly  to  the  importance 
of  a  number  of  socially  ambitious  individuals. 
Looking  at  the  constitutional  problem  as  a 
whole,  and  weiofhin^  material  orains  ao-ainst 
certain  definite  losses,  it  may  fairly  be  agreed 
that  the  former  much  preponderate. 

Yet  the  political  tie  as  such  is  never  binding. 
**  A  fig  for  these  paper  agreements  !  "  exclaimed 
Mr  C.  C.  Kingston  in  the  Federal  House  of 
Representatives  a  year  or  two  ago.  The 
accompanying  snap  of  the  fingers  meant  a 
great  deal.  The  first  Australian  Minister  for 
Customs  was,  and  at  the  time  of  writing  is, 
a  democrat  of  the  democrats.  No  one  knows 
better  than  he  that  it  is  not  only  useless,  but 
criminally  foolish  to  attempt  to  hold  together 
peoples  living  on  opposite  sides  of  the  globe, 
if  their  hearts  are  not  in  the  bond.  Australia 
is  mainly  Imperialist  to-day,  because  of  certain 
considerations  that  lie  outside  the  track  of  any 
huxtering  politician,  or  of  any  self-important 
statesman  residing  either  north  or  south  of 
the  Equator.  It  is  Imperialist  because  it  is 
susceptible  to  the  breath  of  impulse,  and  of 
memory,  and  of  something  finer  and  more 
intanorible  still.  It  is  loval  not  so  much  to 
a  dynasty,  or  to  an  individual,  or  to  a  parchment 


THE    IMPERIALIST  291 

bond,  as  to  the  tie  of  race,  the  idea  of  kinship, 
the  value  of  tradition,  the  glamour  of  histor}',  the 
pride  that  springs  from  the  knowledge  of  certain 
achievements — achievementsthat  havehelped  to 
make  the  country  and  its  people  what  they  are. 
This  Imperialism,  which  is  the  result  of 
sentiment,  and  not  of  any  political  arrangement, 
is  to  be  met  with  in  the  street,  in  the  train,  in 
the  tram-car,  in  the  hotel,  in  the  private  house, 
in  the  social  circle.  The  writer  was  in  Kine 
Street,  Sydney,  when  the  news  of  the  surrender 
of  Cronje  was  posted  outside  a  newspaper  office. 
And  he  was  in  Collins  Street,  Melbourne,  when 
the  announcement  of  the  relief  of  Mafekinsf 
came  to  hand.  The  demonstration  that  took 
place  in  either  city  was  instructive  from  any 
point  of  view.  When  a  crowd,  and  more 
especially  an  Anglo  -  Saxon  crowd,  becomes 
fervid  with  excitement  and  metaphorically 
stands  on  its  head,  and  turns  itself  into  one 
vast  menagerie,  it  is  safe  to  assume  that  the 
motive  power  is  a  fairly  strong  one.  It  is  no 
explanation  to  say  that  the  people  were  merely 
anxious  to  create  a  disturbance — that  they  were 
devoid  of  political  convictions  and  had  no 
detinite  idea  on  the  subject  of  international  or 


292  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

pan-Britannic  relations.  The  splendid  foolish- 
ness that  everywhere  manifested  itself  on  account 
of  the  improved  fortunes  of  the  defenders  of 
Mafeking — on  account,  if  you  will,  of  the  avoid- 
ance of  whatever  national  dishonour  would  have 
been  caused  by  the  fall  of  the  place — was, 
and  is,  the  most  eloquent  testimony  to  the 
existence  of  Imperialism  as  a  vital  force  in 
Australia.  What  did  it  matter  to  the  people 
in  the  streets  ?  What  was  Mafeking  to  them, 
or  what  were  they  to  Mafeking  ?  And  yet  they 
mafficked  —  and  in  the  folly  of  the  moment 
demonstrated  more  than  a  whole  tribe  of 
philosophers  could  disprove  in  a  life-time. 

But  there  are  people  —  anxious,  untiring, 
well-meaning  people — who  are  not  satisfied. 
It  is  not  enough  that  Australia  should  have 
shewn  its  feelings  in  the  only  way  in  which 
they  can  be  shewn.  It  is  not  enough  that 
the  country  should  have  sent  soldiers  to  the 
war,  should  have  yelled  itself  hoarse  for  the 
cause  in  which  they  went,  and  should  have 
rioted  with  frantic  enthusiasm  when  they  came 
back.  It  is  not  enough  that  the  streets  of 
Melbourne  and  Sydney  should  have  been 
converted  into  Pandemonium.     The  statement 


THE    IMPERIALIST  293 

is  being  made  that  the  bonds  of  union  must 
be  drawn  tighter.  The  necessity  is  being 
urged  for  the  taking  of  steps  to  prevent  any- 
drifting  apart.  Somebody  imagines  that  con- 
stitutional relationships  can  be  improved.  The 
poHtical  wheel  is  asked  to  be  set  in  motion. 
There  is  declared  to  be  danger  to  the  Empire 
because  of  possible  commercial  friction.  One 
Parliament  sits  at  Westminster,  and  on  its 
own  responsibility  takes  steps  that  may  not 
only  imperil  the  trade  and  commercial  interests, 
but  place  at  stake  the  national  honour,  and  the 
life  of  men  residing  at  Brisbane  and  Ballarat. 
The  political  Imperialists  say  the  position  is 
alarming.  They  are  certain  that  something 
ought  to  be  done.     But  what  is  it  to  be  ? 

It  has  been  contended  by  very  respectable 
authorities  that  there  should  be  representation 
of  Australia  at  Westminster.  And  it  has  been 
contended,  just  as  ably,  that  there  should  be 
preferential  trade.  Both  contentions  can  be 
strongly  supported  on  a  logical  basis.  It  is 
unreasonable  to  expect  educated  and  civilised 
people  to  submit  to  interference  from  bodies 
whom  they  have  no  share  in  calling  into 
existence.      It   is   unreasonable — and    yet    the 


294  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

submission  takes  place.     No  doubt  there  are 
advantages    by    way    of    compensation.       But 
the  broad,  and  self-evident,   and  theoretically 
objectionable  circumstance   is  that  the  people 
who  have  left   England   to  build   up   Greater 
Britain  agree  to  be  governed   without  repre- 
sentation   on    their   part    by   the    people   who 
have  stayed  at  home.     Then,  again,  the  fact 
has  been   rediscovered  that  competing  tariffs 
make    the    commercial    relationships    of     the 
United    Kingdom  and    Australia   increasingly 
difficult,  and  tend  to  drive  the    two  countries 
further  apart.     The  brilliant  idea  has  occurred 
to   one  statesman   that  it   is  possible   to  unite 
Britain    and     Greater     Britain    more     closely 
together,  and  to  keep  the  foreign   gentleman 
at  a  more  respectful   distance,  by  the  simple 
process    of  manipulating   the    customs    duties. 
From  one  point  of  view — in  fact,  from  many 
points   of  view  —  he    is    quite    correct.      Pre- 
ferential trade  implies  a  bond  of  mutual  self- 
interest.      And    there   is    no    reasoner   in    the 
world  who  would  not  say  unhesitatingly  that 
nations    and    individuals    are    more    likely    to 
hang  together  when  there  exists  a  tie  of  self- 
interest  between  them. 


THE    IMPERIALIST  295 

Every  man  or  woman  possessed  of  rudi- 
mentary intelligence  would  say  this.  But  he 
or  she  would  almost  certainly  be  in  error  in 
applying  the  abstract  principle  to  the  union 
between  England  and  Australia.  Let  it  be 
said  again  that  the  bond  is  not  one  that  has 
grown  strong  by  reason  of  political  adjust- 
ments, or  of  commercial  necessities.  Its 
virtue  consists  in  the  fact  that  it  has  not 
been  manufactured  in  the  mills  of  diplomacy. 
The  more  it  is  tampered  with,  the  weaker  it 
becomes.  It  is  made  of  impalpable  materials — 
of  such  materials  as  memory,  sentiment,  self- 
abnegation,  heredity,  pride.  To  attempt  to 
trim  it  in  one  place  or  to  buttress  it  in  another 
is  to  attempt  to  alter  its  character,  and  thus 
bring  about  its  decay.  The  Imperialist,  if  he 
is  a  genuine  Imperialist,  requires  only  to  be 
let  alone.  He  should  not  be  irritated  and 
thwarted,  but  he  does  not  need  to  be  artificially 
fed  and  pampered.  Whether  he  will  last  for 
many  more  generations  is  an  open  question. 
But  for  the  present  he  must  be  considered 
as  a  survival  of  a  splendid  age — the  age  of 
unreason  and  of  chivalry  and  of  people  wisely 
unwise, 


XIV 

THE    LITTLE  AUSTRALL/VN 

Masters  of  the  Seven  Seas, 
Oh,  love  and  understand  ! 

The  little  Australian,  despite  his  name,  is  not 
a  product  of  the  soil.  He  is  manufactured 
abroad.  In  the  main,  he  is  the  outcome  of 
English  criticism  and  of  English  public  opinion. 
He  is  the  result  of  influences  at  work  outside 
Australia.  Very  often  he  is  born  with  an 
Imperialistic,  or  it  may  be  a  jingoistic,  tempera- 
ment. But  circumstances  tend  to  drive  him 
in  upon  himself;  to  dwarf  his  incipient  ideas 
of  Imperial  greatness  and  of  pan-Britannic 
confederation  ;  to  limit  his  vision  and  his 
sympathies  to  the  country  in  which  he  lives  ; 
to  substitute  for  his  racial  affinities  a  narrower 
feeling  of  kinship  and  a  more  local  point  of 
view. 

"  Forgive  them,"  exclaimed  the  first  Christian 

2Q6 


THE   LITTLE   AUSTRALIAN         297 

martyr,  'May  not  this  sin  to  their  charge." 
The  tragedy  of  Stephen,  though  terrible  and 
heart-breaking,  was  yet  a  tragedy  in  purple. 
The  victim  was,  and  is,  a  sublime  figure.  It 
is  comparatively  easy  to  ask  forgiveness  for 
those  who,  in  putting  a  period  to  your  material 
existence,  lift  you  at  once  to  a  pinnacle  of 
undying  fame.  But  it  is  not  easy  to  forgive 
a  series  of  acts,  or  even  an  attitude  of  mind, 
that  is  a  continual  source  of  belittlement, 
annoyance,  and  exasperation.  This  task  is 
difficult,  whether  for  the  nation  or  for  the 
individual.  It  may  be  unwillingly  undertaken 
for  a  while,  but  in  the  long  run  it  is  usually 
abandoned. 

There  is  much  in  England's  attitude  to 
Australia  that  is  calculated  either  to  put  a 
strain  on  sympathy,  or  to  sow  the  seeds  of 
active  discontent.  This  attitude  cannot  be 
brought  within  the  four  corners  of  one 
generalisation.  And  anything  said  about  it 
in  a  comprehensive  way  must  be  subject  to 
numerous  exceptions.  It  is  necessary  to  be 
fair  to  the  people  in  England  who  know 
Australia  personally ;  to  those  who,  without 
knowing  it  personally,  have  taken  the  trouble 


298  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

to  learn  about  it ;  and  to  those  rare  souls  who 
appear  to  have  an  instinctive,  undefinable 
sympathy  with  all  efforts  and  achievements 
of  their  countrymen  either  at  home  or  beyond 
the  seas.  Yet  the  fact  remains,  after  all  the 
circumstances  have  been  considered,  and  after 
the  last  exception  has  been  allowed  for,  that 
the  Enolishman's  conscious  or  unconscious 
bearing  towards  the  man  who  lives  outside 
of  England  is  the  best  reason  and  excuse  for 
the  growth  of  the  product  that  has  come  to 
be  dubbed  "little  Australian." 

In  the  political  relationships  of  the  two 
countries  a  certain  amount  of  aloofness,  a 
certain  spirit  of  alienation,  has  always  been 
noticeable.  It  is  about  half  a  century,  or 
more,  since  a  British  Prime  Minister  was  in 
the  habit  of  making  allusions  to  "  these 
wretched  Colonies."  This  member  of  the 
privileged  classes  was  candid  enough  to  think 
aloud.  Other  statesmen  have  thought  as 
much,  but  have  said  less.  The  House  of 
Commons  represents  Great  Britain  and  mis- 
represents Ireland.  It  has  no  wish  to  add 
to  its  aims  of  representation  and  misrepresenta- 
tion   the    maladministration    of   the    affairs    of 


THE   LITTLE   AUSTRALIAN         p.gg 

Australia,  It  does  not  desire  closer  union 
with  that  country.  Colonial  politicians  are  not 
wanted  at  Westminster.  Downing  Street  does 
not  love  them,  although  it  tolerates  them,  and 
on  great  occasions  invites  them  to  call.  It 
sends  them  an  occasional  Governor-General, 
and  a  more  frequent  State  Governor.  It 
sometimes  leaves  the  impression  that  the 
choice  has  been  hastily  made,  and  that  the 
people  responsible  regarded  the  matter  as  of 
no  great  importance.  Such  an  opinion,  it 
may  be  said  in  passing,  is  the  greatest  mistake 
possible.  An  era  of  perfect  Vice-regal  repre- 
sentatives might  mean  an  era  of  universal 
Imperialism.  Owing  to  the  large  amount  of 
indifference  that  prevails  in  British  political 
circles,  it  has  come  about  that  a  feelinof  of 
strangeness  has  been  accentuated.  Even  the 
fervid  Imperialism  of  a  Chamberlain,  if  it  abide 
alone,  will  not  alter  the  trend  of  events. 

But  the  views,  or  lack  of  views,  of  English 
statesmen  towards  Australia  are  far  from  beinsf 
the  chief  cause  of  complaint  in  the  younger 
country.  Neither  are  they  the  source  from 
which  the  little  Australian  most  naturally 
springs.      The    stolid,    unyielding,    invincible 


30O  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

prejudices  of  the  English  middle  classes  are 
a  more  important  factor  in  the  case.  What 
does  the  man  who  has  lived  his  life  in  the 
Midland  Counties,  or  in  Yorkshire,  or  in 
London,  know  about  the  Antipodes  ?  What 
does  he  care  to  know  ?  What  is  the  use  of 
telling  him  that  at  the  Antipodes  life  may  be 
as  artistic,  wit  as  polished,  society  as  versatile, 
conventional  codes  as  precise,  manners  as 
decorous,  wealth  as  prodigal,  intellect  as  keen, 
and  the  indefinable  something  known  as 
savoir  faire  as  pronounced  as  in  England  ? 
The  Midlander  would  not  believe  it.  And 
his  wife  would  believe  it  still  less.  The 
Enoflishman  should  make  it  his  business  to 
learn  something  of  the  land  that  his  country- 
men have  peopled.  His  geographical  ignor- 
ance should  be  less  complete,  less  appalling. 
One  obstacle  to  lasting  cohesion  will  be 
removed  when  the  man  who  picks  up  his 
paper  in  Yorkshire  or  Warwickshire  is  aware 
that  Victoria  is  not  the  Capital  of  New  South 
Wales,  and  that  people  in  Brisbane  are 
debarred  by  distance  from  paying  afternoon 
calls  upon  people  in  Geelong. 

Another  of  the  centrifugal  forces  at  work  is 


THE   LITTLE   AUSTRALIAN         301 

the  attitude  of  the  older  nation  towards  the 
incipient  art  and  literature  of  the  new  one. 
It  is  always  a  mistake  to  despise  the  day  of 
small  things.  The  error  is  one  that  is  being 
constantly  made  by  the  English  critic,  the 
English  reviewer,  the  English  publisher,  the 
English  artist,  and — to  some  extent — by  the 
English  reader.  You  will  hear  it  said  in 
London  that  the  Colonies  have  been  "over- 
done." You  need  not  believe  it.  They  have 
never  been  anything  but  underdone.  They 
have  always  been  fighting  for  recognition  and 
very  imperfectly  obtaining  it.  The  young  men 
from  Oxford  and  Cambridge  have  come  to 
regard  Fleet  Street  as  their  special  domain. 
They  have  never  been  anxious  to  greet  the 
outsider.  They  do  not  actually  forbid  intrusion, 
but  they  do  not  welcome  it,  and  they  do  not 
wish  it.  The  newspaper  proprietors  and 
editors  are  of  the  same  way  of  thinking.  A 
Colonial  reputation  to  them  means  nothing, 
or  less  than  nothing.  The  very  fact  that  it 
is  Colonial  is  enough  to  damn  it.  The  word 
"Colonial"  is  unfortunate.  Such  a  term,  with 
such  associations,  might  damn  anything.  Its 
use  in  this  way  is  an  injustice  to  the  people  to 


302  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

whom  it  is  applied,  a  reflection  on  the  manner 
of  thinking  of  the  people  who  apply  it.  It  is 
a  significant  fact  that  the  man  who  has  done 
brilliantly  in  Melbourne  or  Sydney  finds  it 
harder  to  make  a  commencement  in  the 
metropolis  of  his  oivn  race  than  does  the 
man  who  has  achieved  nothing  better  than 
failure  in  Birmino-ham  or  York.  English 
experience,  good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  is  under- 
stood to  be  better  than  Colonial  success. 

Still  another  factor  calling  for  consideration 
is  the  tone  of  English  society.  In  some 
respects  this  is  the  most  important  of  all. 
Were  it  not  for  this,  much  could  be  forgiven. 
The  Australian  could  overlook  the  majestic 
indifference  of  the  Assembly  that  sits  at 
Westminster ;  he  could  smile  at  the  profound 
lack  of  topographical  information  possessed 
by  the  middle-class  Briton  in  reference  to 
Australia ;  and  he  could  put  up  with  the 
hard  suspicion  that  greets  his  claims  to  a 
place  in  the  literary  or  the  artistic  world. 
He  could  put  up  with  these,  and  endeavour 
to  overcome  them.  But  he  finds  exasperating 
and  well-nigh  unendurable  the  slight  move- 
ment of  the  shoulders,  and  the  imperceptible 


THE   LITTLE   AUSTRALIAN         303 

lifting  of  the    eyebrows,   that,    in    certain    ex- 
clusive circles,  greet  the  mention  of  the  word 
Australian.     These  indications  of  opinion  are 
trifles.     Society  itself  is   the    most    futile   and 
absurd  of  trifles.     But  the  ridiculous  prejudices 
of  the  most  trifling  individuals  may  have  more 
influence  upon  international  relationships  than 
years  of  actual  misgovernment  or   oceans    of 
wordy  vituperation.     The  Australian  is  aware 
of  one  or  two  things.     He  knows  that  although 
his  erudition  may  be  sound,  his  clothes  fault- 
less,   and   his  hands   as    clean   as  his  linen — 
though  he  may  have  much  knowledge,  much 
tact,    much    eloquence,    much    refinement — his 
acceptance  among  the  people   who  can    trace 
their  descent  for  a  couple  of  centuries  will  be 
achieved    in  spite  of,  and  in  no  way  because 
of,   the  land  of  his  birth.     He  knows  that  in 
a  particular  circle,  a  circle  that  is  largely  the 
preserve  of  soulless  aristocrats   and  common- 
place   millionaires     and     pushful     Americans, 
there  can    be   heard   every  now  and  then  the 
exclamation,  **  Oh,  Australians  !  "    The  delicate, 
almost    imperceptible,     irony    of    the    tone    in 
which  these  words  are  uttered  may  yet  bring 
about  the  dismemberment  of  the  Empire.     No 


304  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

man  cares  to  be  thought  ridiculous.  No  man 
rehshes  the  suggestion — even  the  most  faintly 
implied,  ostensibly  denied  suggestion — that  in 
the  social  sense  he  does  not  know  how  to  live. 

Mainly  as  the  result  of  what  is  going  on 
in  England,  partly  because  of  other  reasons, 
there  is  growing  up  in  Australia  a  feeling  of 
antagonism  to  constitutional  ties  as  they  now 
exist.  I  say  "growing  up,"  although  the 
shoots  are  at  present  hardly  noticeable,  and 
the  vitality  is  taken  from  them  by  the  vigour 
of  other  trees.  But  no  one  can  afford  to  be 
blind  to  the  signs  of  the  times.  In  the 
Southern  continent  there  is  a  strong  and 
developing  Labour  party.  Politically  it  is  of 
the  utmost  importance.  Where  it  does  not 
actually  choose  Ministries  and  pass  legislation 
it  is  the  controlling  or  balancing^  force  without 
which  the  Government  in  office  could  not  carry 
on.  This  political  Labour  party  is  leavened 
with  Republicanism.  More  than  that,  it  is  in 
spirit  and  essence  Republican  ;  that  is  to  say, 
anti- Monarchical,  and  in  a  measure  Separa- 
tionist.  So  far,  it  is  not  actively  disloyal. 
It  has  by  no  means  shaken  off  old  associa- 
tions.    The  influences  of  race  and  of  heredity 


THE   LITTLE   AUSTRALIAN         305 

are  with  it  yet.  The  name  and  fame  of 
England  are  more  to  it  than  the  name  and 
fame  of  France  or  Germany,  or  America,  or 
Japan.  Many  of  its  members  took  part  in 
the  honourable  folly  of  the  Mafeking  celebra- 
tions. But  old  associations  become  older 
each  year ;  and  even  heredity  is  not  in  the 
long  run  proof  against  environment.  A  party 
that  has  to  fight  for  its  existence  in  Parliament, 
and  to  earn  its  own  living  outside  of  it,  has 
not  much  time  for  sentiment.  It  comes  down 
to  bed-rock  sooner  than  do  other  parties.  All 
the  patriotic  ideals,  all  the  associations  of 
remoter  kinship,  all  the  far-off  memories  of 
battle  fields,  all  the  impalpable  nothings  that 
help  to  bind  an  Empire  together,  are  not 
proof  in  the  long  run  against  the  practical 
tendencies  of  the  man  who  knows  only  his 
own  surroundings — who  is  chiefly  occupied  in 
supplying  material  wants,  and  who  wishes  to 
be  let  alone. 

Outside  of  political  circles,  and  outside  of 
the  Labour  party,  there  is  a  certain  body  of 
opinion  that  sees,  or  professes  to  see,  indica- 
tions of  coming  change.  Causes  of  irritation  are 
always  arising.    English  newspaper  criticism  of 

u 


3o6  THE    REAL   AUSTRALIA 

Australia  is  one  fruitful  source  of  complaint. 
The  returned  Australian — the  man  who  has 
battled  hard  for  a  living  in  London  and  has 
more  or  less  failed  —  comes  back  with  the 
conviction  that  racial  sentiment  is  a  vain  and 
foolish  thing.  For  him  it  is  dead ;  its  embers 
lie  strewn  about  the  pavement  that  runs  past 
London  newspaper  offices,  and  are  trampled 
under  foot  by  the  indifferent  millions  on  their 
passage  to  and  fro.  The  thoughtful  and  clever 
Australian,  looking  to  the  prevailing  signs  of 
the  times,  looking  to  the  attitude  of  Downing 
Street,  of  Fleet  Street,  and  of  Belgravia,  begins 
to  pin  his  faith  to  a  future  that  is  not  the  future 
of  the  old  world,  but  of  the  new. 

For  the  present,  old  ties,  old  institutions, 
old  associations  are  in  the  ascendant.  The 
continent  is  owned,  and  to  some  extent 
governed,  by  men  of  peregrinating  habits ; 
by  men  to  whom  the  Red  Sea  is  as  familiar 
as  Collins  Street ;  by  men  to  whom  the 
journey  from  Tilbury  to  Adelaide  is  no  more 
formidable,  and  not  much  more  unusual,  than 
a  cab-drive  from  the  Marble  Arch  to  London 
Bridge.  These  people,  though  they  live  in 
the  Southern  Hemisphere,  have  most  of  their 


THE   LITTLE   AUSTRALIAN         307 

financial,  commercial,  and  social  interests  in 
the  world's  metropolis.  These  people  own 
most  of  the  property  and  possess  a  pre- 
ponderating, though  a  diminishing,  share  in 
the  Government  of  the  new  country.  Assist- 
ing them,  and  co-operating  with  them,  is  the 
racial  and  Imperialistic  sentiment  of  the 
Australian  middle  classes.  But  the  other  type 
of  individual  —  the  man  who  believes  that 
formulas  have  no  hold  over  him,  and  who 
declares  that  he  "may  not  call  a  throned 
puppet  Lord " — is  making  himself  felt  more 
as  a  silent  than  as  an  eloquent  factor  in  the 
life  of  the  people.  This  is  the  type  that  is 
known  as  "little  Australian."  On  A.N. A. 
platforms,  in  suburban  debating  societies,  at 
Trades'  Hall  councils,  and  at  Yarra  Bank 
gatherings,  it  succeeds  in  making  its  aspira- 
tions heard.  In  social  circles,  in  the  reg-ion 
of  practical  politics,  it  is  dumb  and  futile. 
But  it  is  ambitious,  and  expects  to  grow. 

For  many  reasons  one  might  sympathise 
with  the  little  Australian,  and  even  feel  some 
sorrow  for  him.  He  has  so  few  materials 
with  which  to  build.  He  has  no  national  flag, 
no  history,  no  bead-roll  of  fame,  no  justifica- 


3o8  THE   REAL  AUSTRALIA 

tlon  for  enthusiasm  of  any  kind.  He  wishes 
to  feel,  and  to  spread  around  him,  an  atmo- 
sphere of  enthusiasm  for  the  land  In  which  he 
was  born.  He  wishes  to  see  the  embers 
removed  from  England,  and  relighted  in 
Australia.  But  how  is  the  thing  to  be 
done?  National  sentiment  Is  largely  the 
product  of  memories.  And  the  Australian, 
as  an  Australian,  has  no  memories  worthy  of 
the  name.  If  he  looks  back  a  century — and 
he  can  look  back  no  further — he  finds  merely 
the  trail  of  the  unattractive  aboriginal,  of  the 
nomadic  gold  digger,  and  of  that  other  man 
who,  like  Barrington,  left  his  country  for  his 
country's  good.  Hamlet  declares  that  you 
cannot  feed  capons,  that  Is  to  say,  young 
cocks,  on  air ;  and  you  can  hardly  nourish 
the  flame  of  patriotic  sentiment  on  recollec- 
tions such  as  these.  So  it  Is  that  In  Australia 
the  shrine  of  the  local  patriot  is  difficult  to 
tend.  The  altar  has  not  been  stained  with 
crimson  as  every  rallying  centre  of  a  nation 
should  be.  A  large  expanse  of  territory,  some 
trees,  a  whitey-grey  or  dull  green  landscape, 
a  number  of  new  buildings,  a  hard  blue  sky, 
a    succession    of   fine    days,    and   alternating 


THE   LITTLE   AUSTRALIAN         309 

periods  of  drought — these  must  be  the  out- 
ward and  visible  symbols,  in  default  of  others 
more  histrionic  and  less  tangible,  on  which  the 
sentiment  of  the  nation  has  to  feed.  It  is  no 
wonder  that  the  result  is  a  slow  and  fluctuating 
and  uncertain  growth. 

But  the  little  Australian  lives  on,  and  believes 
that  time  will  have  its  revenges.  He  believes 
that  each  year  as  it  passes  is  fighting  for  him. 
He  knows  that  he  is  not  strong  enough  to 
found  a  party  that  will  carry  any  weight  in 
the  Government  of  the  country.  He  is  aware, 
also,  that  he  can  get  no  audience  to  listen  to 
the  gospel  that  is  dearest  to  him,  elsewhere 
than  by  the  banks  of  rivers,  at  the  less 
reputable  street  corners,  or  in  the  open  spaces 
of  a  city  domain.  He  recognises  that  the 
earth  belongs  to  those  who  think  very 
differently  from  himself  He  has  no  hope  of 
achieving  a  tour  de  force.  But  he  is  by  no 
means  idle.  He  does  what  he  can.  His 
voice  is  raised  against  all  proposals  that  seem 
to  have  an  old-world  origin,  or  to  be  actuated 
by  sympathy  with  old-world  forms  of  Govern- 
ment. Thus  he  is  an  active  opponent  of  the 
agreement  under  which  Australia  pays  a  naval 


3IO  THE   REAL   AUSTRALIA 

subsidy  of  ^200,000  to  Great  Britain.  He  is 
not  candid  enough  to  say  what  he  really  thinks 
— that  he  desires  his  country  to  be  quite 
independent  of  the  parent  nation.  But  he 
talks,  with  an  amusing  sophistry  that  deceives 
no  one,  of  the  advantages  that  would  accrue  to 
the  people  of  England  if  Australia  possessed 
a  navy  of  her  own.  Besides  objecting  to  the 
naval  subsidy  he  objects  to  State  Governors, 
to  all  appeals  from  his  part  of  the  world  to  the 
Privy  Council,  to  contingents  such  as  those  that 
went  to  South  Africa,  to  the  right  of  veto  upon 
colonial  legislation.  All  these  are  principles  or 
practices  that  can  be  protested  against  with- 
out openly  enlisting  under  the  Separationist 
flag.  The  little  Australian  is  not  sure  that 
the  time  is  ripe  for  objecting  to  an  English 
Governor-General,  or  to  the  appearance  of  the 
head  of  the  Sovereign  on  the  coins  of  the 
realm.  But  where  there  is  a  chance  of  doing 
something,  he  does  it ;  where  there  is  a  head 
unprotected,  he  hits  it  as  hard  as  he  can. 

What  is  the  future  to  be  ?  No  one  knows, 
least  of  all  the  little  Australian.  Sometimes 
he  sees  visions,  sometimes  he  dreams  dreams. 
But  he   lacks    constructive   ability,   and    he  is 


THE   LITTLE   AUSTRALIAN         311 

wanting  in  definite  ainx  His  antecedents  are 
of  a  heterogeneous  character.  It  may  be  that 
he  is  of  Irish  descent,  and  that  memories  of 
Drogheda  and  Vinegar  Hill  are  running  in 
his  blood.  Perhaps  he  has  a  Gaelic  strain  and 
refuses,  as  some  Scotchmen  still  refuse,  to 
forego  the  hereditary  instinct  which  meant 
war  to  the  knife  arainst  the    race   across  the 

o 

Border.  Or  possibly  he  is  a  German  for  whom 
loyalty  to  Great  Britain  has  no  meaning ;  or 
possibly  an  Italian,  the  child  of  a  country  that 
is  always  talking  about  liberty,  but  has  for 
gotten  how  to  use  it.  Perhaps  he  is  an 
Englishman  who  for  adequate  personal  reasons 
has  a  vendetta  against  his  fathers'  country,  and 
everything  connected  with  it.  There  are  a 
number  of  local  causes,  a  number  of  nation- 
alities, a  number  of  racial  prejudices  helping 
to  build  up  the  little  Australian.  But  for  the 
present  the  Imperialists  of  the  continent  can 
afford  to  smile  at  him.  They  know  that  his 
day  is  not  yet. 


INDEX 


Achilles,  122 

Actors,  1 38- 141 

Actress,  Young  American,  147 

Adams,  Francis,  1 13 

Adelaide,  53,  306 

Adonais,  114 

Adonis,  260 

yEstheticism,  168 

Aetius,  37 

Afghanistan,  284 

Agamemnon,  209 

^ge^  55-58 

Aide-de-cam  p,Government  House, 

28,  34 
Amaryllis,  no 
America,  142,  144,  305 
Amu  rath,  81 
Aphrodite,  190 
A  Pretty  Woman,  232 
Araluen,  92 
Argtis,  55,  56,  66,  93 
Arnold,  Sir  Edwin,  169 
As  long  as  any  Afay,  249 
Astoria,  145 

Atalanta  in  Calydon,  39 
At  Dawn  and  Dusk,  227,  234 
At  the  Opera,  232 
Attila,  37 

Aurelius,  Marcus,  260 
Australasian,  128 
A.N. A.,  307 
Australian  men,  1-22,  199-203 

society,  23-44 

wompn,  32,  160-180,  251 


Authors,  dramatic,  141 
Autumn  So7ig,  124 
Azores,  115 


B 

Bab  Ballads,  148 

Back-blocks,  215 

Badajos,  283 

Ballad  of  Dreamland,  123 

Barrere,  I 

Earrington,  308 

Barton,  SirE.,  89,  252-258 

Bayard,  133 

Beaconsfield,  216 

Beau  Brummell,  260 

Eeersheba,  112 

Belgravia,  306 

Belle  of  New  York,  146 

Bent,  Thomas,  78 

Birth-rate,  36,  37 

Bismarck,  I 

Bjornsten,  146 

Blanchelys,  233,  234 

Blue  Mountains,  209 

Boers,  283 

Botany  Bay,  57,  285 

Brighton  (Melb.),  113 

Brisbane,  53,  153,  158,  300 

Briseis,  122 

Browning,  I,  68,  74,  91 

Bryne,  Desmond,  113 

Buddhists,  3,  169 

Bulletin,  103,  108,  109,  205 

Bunthorne,  124 


313 


314 


INDEX 


Burke,  Edmund,  9 

Street,  195 

Burney,  Miss,  124 
Byron, 133,  259. 


C^SAR,  Julius,  280 

Cambridge,  171,  301 

Camille,  150 

Carlton,  265 

Carlyle,  203 

Cecil  Family,  284 

Cereals,  209 

Chamberlain,  Joseph,  299 

Charters  Towers,  158 

Chateaubriand,  I 

Circe,  183 

Circular  Quay,  142,  162,  207 

Cochin  China,  284 

Collins  St.  (Melb.),  195,  207,  291, 

306 
"Colonial,"  301 
Colonial  Secretary,  16,  191,  192 
Commonwealth,  36,  56,  259 
Como,  Lake,  215 
Condorcet,  15 
Confucius,  3 

Contingent,  S.  A.,  203,  310 
Cowper,  277 
Cricket,  155,  156 
Cromwell,  I 
Cronje,  General,  291 
Crosland,   Henry,   24,   161,    162, 

271 
Cui  Bono,  127 
Cup  Day,  199 
Curate,  the  Anglican,  169 
Cytherea,  190 


D 


Daily  Telegraph  (Sydney),  55- 

58 
Daley,  Victor,  23,  92,   94,   225- 

236 
Danton,  267 


Darling  Downs,  208 

Darling  Harbour,  182 

Darlinghurst,  142 

Deakin,  Alfred,  89,  258-264 

De  Brett,  26 

Demosthenes,  260 

Detis  ex  machinal,  168 

Dibbs,  Sir  George,  78 

Dolores,  150 

Doubtful  Dreams,  127,  130 

Downing  Street,  288,  299,  306 

Dreams  in  Flower,  246,  247 

Dress,  love  of,  174 

Drogheda,  311 

Dumas,  146 

Dumplings,  158 


Edward,  the  Confessor,  257 
Egypt,  280 
Egyptology,  172 
Elegy,  Gray's,  269 
Eliot,  George,  23,  24 
English  middle  classes,  300 

newspapers,   in,   143,    145, 

301,  305 

society,  24,  25,  302 

Epicurus,  I 
Epsom,  156 

Established  Church,  187 
Euphties,  123 
Evans,  Essex,  94 
Expediency,  287 


Faces  in  the  Street,  242 
Federation,  256,  264,  266 
Flinders  Lane,  162 
Flippant  style,  107 
Forests,  Australian,  208 
Fra  Lippo  Lippi,  91 
Free  Trade,  266,  275 
Front  the  Wreck,  128 


INDEX 


315 


Gambling,  ii,  34,  153,  156 
Gamins,  14 
Geelong,  300 
Germany,  19,  305 
Girl,  The  Country,  224 
Gissing,  George,  214 
Godwin,  William,  15 
Golden  Age,  190 
Goose-step,  14 
Gordon,  Adam  L.,  1 13-136 
Gorky,  214 

Government  House,   28,  30,  34, 
47,  67 

,  N.S.W.,37 

Gracchus,  Caius,  260 
Graduates,  lady,  173 
Groperism,  54 
Guildhall,  254 


H 

Hackett,  Dr,  54 

Hamlet,  252,  308 

Hardy,  Thomas,  209 

Harland,  Henry,  177 

Harte,  Bret,  96 

Heine,  i 

Henry  V.,  105 

Holt,  Bland,  142 

Hooligans,  14 

Horace,  168,  269 

Hospitality,  5 

How  we  beat  the  Favourite,  128, 

130 
Humorous  style,  106,  217 


Ibsen,  145,  146 

Icarus,  231 

Illegitimacy,  10 

Illiteracy,  97 

Immigration  Restriction  Act,  3 

Immorality,  17 

Imperial  Defence,  289,  310 


Imperialist,  277-295 
I.O.G.T.,  191 
I.O.R.,  191 

Inner  life,  society's,  32 
Irrigation,  263 
Irwin,  W.  H.,  78 
Island  Lover,  94 


J 

Japan,  142,  286,  305 
Jarrah,  208 
Jones,  H.  A.,  145 
journalism,  45-67,  220 
Jugurtha,  25 


K 

Karri,  208 
Katoomba,  209 
Keats,  48,  225 
Kelly  Gang,  142 
Kendall,  Henry  C.,     8,  119 
King  Lear,  79,  217 
Kingston,  C.  C. ,  290 
Kipling,  296 
Koniggratz,  19 
Kosciusko,  284 


Labour   party,  81-83,    265-26S, 

305 
Lais,  202 
Lamartine,  133 
Lancelot,  133 
Larrikin,  8,  15 
Lazzaroni,  14 
Lawn  tennis,  170 
Lawson,    Plenry,    42,    99,    208, 

237-243 
Leah  Kleschna,  146 
Lear,  King,  79,  217 
Le  Gallienne,  Richard,  161,  162 
Legislative  Council,  84,  162 
Leicester  Square,  98 


3i6 


INDEX 


Leonidas,  39 
Light  of  Asia,  169 
Lohengrin,  224 
London,  197,  207,  300 

Bridge,  306 

Lorimer,  Mr,  224 
Lotos-flower,  183 
Louis  XIV.,  40 

M 

Macbeth,  257 

Mack,  Louise,  181,  243-251 

Mafeking,  291,  292,  305 

Magazines,  Australian,  219,  220 

Magersfontein,  283 

Majuba,  283 

Manchuria,  280 

Mannerisms,  31 

Mansion  House,  255 

Marble  Arch,  306 

Marriage  of  Kitty,  150 

Melbourne,  53-61,  193-203 

Melnotte,  Claude,  215 

Melville,  Whyte,  128 

Men,  Australian,  199-203 

Mens  aqua,  209' 

Meredith,  George,  214 

Micavvber,  214 

Midlands,  300 

Milton,  20,  137,  160 

Mirabeau,  14 

Moliere,  40 

Morning    Herald   (Sydney),    55, 

56,63 
Morris,  Professor,  171 
Mouse,  The  Country,  150 
Mulhall,  10 
Musical  comedy,  151 


N 


Nadjezda,  145 
Napoleon,  280 
Nature  and  Art,  179 
Navy,  British,  289 
Newspapers,    English,   in,    143, 
14s.  301,  305 


Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  153 
New  York,  52,  188 

Zealand,  237 

Nicholson's  Nek,  283 
Nora  Creina,  201 


OCTAVIAN,    I 

Old  Stone  Chimney,  242 

Dinar  Khayyam ,   1 93 

On  Wairee  Hill,  249 

"Oriel,"  63 

Orpheus,  132 

Ouida,  30 

Oxford,  171,  187,  301 


Pallida  mors,  168 
Pall  Mall  Gazette,  1 1 1 
Paternoster  Row,  98 
Paterson,  48,  208 
Patience,  124 
Payments,  literary,  224 
Perth,  54,  153 
Petticoat  Lane,  145 
Phantasmagoria,  183 
Philip,  Governor,  190 
Pigmies,  16 
Pinero,  Mr,  145 
Pitt,  William,  260 
Plato,  169 
Plutocrats,  35 
Podas  Okzis,  122 
Poetry,  Australian,  225-251 
Poland,  280 

Politics,  the  game  of,  68-90 
Port  Darwin,  153 
Potts'  Point,  67 
Prejudices,  303 
Proserpine,  132 
Protection,  266,  275,  276 
Publishers,  100 
Punch,  205 


INDEX 


317 


QUEX,  TJie  Gay  Lord,  150 
Quinn,  P.  E.,  99 

R.J.,  99 

Quo  Vadis,  150 


R 


Reedy  River,  242 

Reid,  G.  H.,  79,  89,  270-276 

Resources  of  Australia,  208,  209 

Rhyme  of  Joyous  Garde,  122,  133 

Richardson  (novelist),  124 

Roberts,  Earl,  16 

Robespierre,  267 

Roll  of  the  Kettlednifn,   128 

Romance  of  Britomarte,   129 

Rostand,  146 

Rudd,  Steele,  204-224 

Rugby  football,  158,  17 1 

Russia,  280 


Sahara,  195 

St  Kilda,  200 

Salamanders,  1 58 

Salamis,  40 

Salvation  Army,  16 

Samaritan,  the  good,  6 

San  Francisco,  52,  57 

Sardou,  145 

Sempach,  40 

Sentiment,  Imperial,  281,  295 

Seven  Seas,  296 

Shakespeare,  105,  146,  152,  175, 

201,    204,  217,  229,  252,  257, 

308 
Shaw,  Bernard,  96,  149 
Shelley,  114,  125,  224 
Sheridan,  146 
Slang,  171 
Slums,  186 
Smith,  Sappho,  108 
Snobs,  202 
Society,  23-44 


Solomon  Islanders,  154 
Song  of  Auttwin,  127 
Sou'-wester,  195 
Spectre  Bride,  117 
Spring  St.  (Melb.),  195 
Squadron,  Australian,  286 
Star  of  Australia,  43 
Stephen,  St,  297 
Stowe,  H.  B.,  45 
Sudermann,  145,  146 
Sweating,  17 

Sweet  Nell  of  Old  Drury,  1 50 
Swimmer,  The,  124,  131 
Swinburne,  39,  110,  123,  125 
Sydney,  53-55,  61,  1S1-193 

Town  Hall,  256,  284 

Supreme  Court,  59,  257 
Syme,  David,  55 
Symmons,  Davison,  63 


Tasman  Sea,  182 
Tennyson,  222 
Theatres,  137-152 
Theosophy,  168 
Thermopylse,  16,  39 
Thurston,  Mrs,  155 
Tigris,  182 
Tilbury,  306 
Tithonus,  222 
Toby,  Uncle,  214 
Togo,  Admiral,  286 
Toorak,  67,  142,  20c 
Torres  Vedras,  216 
Trades'  Union,  72 
Trams  of  Sydney,  1 86 
Trip  to  Chinatown,  146 
Triumph  of  Time,  123 
Trumper,  Victor,  157 
Tsu-shima,  4 
Tugela,  283 
Twain,  Mark,  96,  106 
Twofold  Bay,  209 


Vallambrosa,  93 
Vedas,  169 


3t8 


INDEX 


Vemis  and  Adonis^  229 
Vices,  national,  9,  13,  192 
Victoria,  Queen,  260 
Vinegar  Hill,  311 
Virgil,  209 
Virtues,  national,  7 
Vitellius,  I 
Viviani,  Emilia,  229 
Von  Kotze,  94 

Vows,  249 


W 

Wagner,  201 
Waldorf,  145 
Warwickshire,  300 
Waterloo,  47,  283 
Watson,  Chris.,  89,  264-270 
Wellington,  Duke  of,  103 
West  Australian,  54 
Westminster,  145,  293,  299,  ; 
White  Heather,  150 
Wildman,  Ina,  108 
Wilkes,  John,  I 
Winkelreid,  A.  von,  40 
Winter  in  Melbourne,  195 
Woman's  suffrage,  163 


Women  and  Wine,  1 50 
Women,  Australian,  160-180 
W.C.T.U.,  191,  202 
Women,  English,  176 
Wooloomooloo,  255,  265 
Wordsworth,  45,  153 
Working  classes,  44 


X 

Xerxes,  King,  40,  280 


Yalu,  16 

Yarra  Bank,  307 

Years  Ago,  229 

Yellow  peril,  286 

Yorkshire,  300 

Young  American  Actress,  147 


Zaza,  150 

Zeno,  I 
Zola,  214,  216 


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